


Love, Laugh, Die

by Randomcat1832



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Between Episodes, But he's a moody badass and I love it, Canon Compliant, Creepy, Fantasy, Gen, Hints of Nine/Rose, Horror Fantasy, Nine is not a happy Doctor, Original Monster - Freeform, Science Fiction, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomcat1832/pseuds/Randomcat1832
Summary: A cruise ship. A string of murders. And the Doctor. Surely only bad things can come of this.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Or, that little part at the top of the story where I talk about all the technical stuff and thank you for choosing to click on this. This is my fifth story for Doctor Who, but it is the first one with a running plot arc, and my first "episodic" story. That is, this adventure could fit nicely into the canon of Series 1 without having to change a thing. This one is set sometime between The Long Game and Father's Day. I figured that I might as well write it for Nine and Rose, because much as I love Ten, Nine was my first Doctor and needs more love. It will contain hints of Nine/Rose, but not much because I want this to be canon-friendly.
> 
> This story is rated T for some minor violence and occasional cussing, nothing serious. If you watch the show and don't mind some mild language you should be fine.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. It's very sad but I'm trying to get over it.

PROLOGUE

* * *

 

**_The Year 2095  
The Milky Way galaxy_ **

The toilet wasn't working right.

It didn't quite flush properly, and the resulting stench was something awful. It was the little staff one on Deck E that was causing the trouble, where the third-class passengers' cabins were, which was why it hadn't been an immediate priority. But now that the smell had started to waft up to Decks F and G, the number of complaints had doubled, and George Ackerman, Head of Maintenance, had been sent to go fix it.

Which was annoying, because the ship wasn't supposed to have anything wrong with it; George had only been offered the job as a requirement of the law, and half the reason he'd taken it was because he'd been hoping for an easy three weeks without having much to do besides mop a few floors here and there. Nobody had accounted for one of the toilets to stop working properly.

Another annoyance: the boss had sent George to go and fix the toilet at the oh-so-wonderful hour of 2am. George had been quite happy to be asleep in his very own cabin (a perk of being Head of Maintenance) when the boss had come and pounded on his door until he woke up, sending him down to solve the ruddy toilet problem.

"Can't it wait 'til morning, sir?" George had complained.

"'Fraid not, George. Complaints are coming in without end, have been since mid-afternoon. The messages on the Complaints and Concerns board're rolling in every other minute even at this hour, more than half of them from Mrs R Duncan on Deck G, second-class. They'll pay you extra for this, if that's any motivation, so hop to."

George muttered to himself as he made for the staff lavatory. He found cursing to be quite therapeutic. He should never have taken this bloody job. He'd have quit if he could, but if he quit, he'd be stuck on this bloody ship for another two and a half weeks without even being paid for it.

He scanned his access card over the door panel, and with a satisfying click it opened. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Certainly he'd been able to smell it for a while, but with the door open, the putrid stench hit him with staggering force. Pulling his shirt collar over his nose, George tucked his access card back into his lanyard and appraised the mess of the toilet. It was clearly clogged, and apparently some other staff members had tried using the plunger to no avail.

Another problem was the fact that the floor was covered in toilet water, and George didn't want to think about how clean that water was. He certainly wasn't taking any risks. He checked the supply cupboard just across the passageway in search of a mop, but there wasn't one, just the plunger and some heavy-duty cleaning materials. He grabbed the plunger and the cleaning materials, put them aside, and with a heavy sigh, made for Deck D.

The bottom three decks, Decks C, B, and A, were not welcome to passengers. George had never visited any of them, because the lower decks housed the all the machinery. Technically, his access card allowed him passage, but ill-lit passageways filled with all those machines and engines making strange noises gave him the creeps. He'd avoid them as long as he could.

On Deck D, the bottommost passenger deck, he found the mop he was looking for in the level's supply cupboard. "Thank God," muttered George, turning to head back up to Deck E. He was bloody exhausted, and the last thing he needed was to go on a wild goose chase for a cleaning supply item as mundane as a mop.

But when he turned around, he saw, halfway down the empty passageway, a little girl in her nightdress. The third-class levels were always more poorly lit than the upper decks, so her face was in shadow, but judging by her size and stature he'd peg her down at about eight or nine years old. "Hello there," he said in a forced jovial tone. "Were you looking for the toilets?"

"The staff toilet on Deck E isn't working properly," she replied flatly.

He cocked his head. "Hmm, that's right, dear. How'd you know about that? Smell's been making its way up, not down."

"It has caused so very much trouble."

He snorted. "Bloody damn right it is, it's causing _me_ trouble." Too late, he caught himself. "'Scuse me. Don't you go repeating my language, kid. Anyway, _your_ lavatory will be just down this passageway on the left-hand side. You'll see the sign on the door." George made to go.

"I don't need the toilet," the girl said in what sounded to George like a stubborn tone.

He paused and faced her again. "In that case, you'd better get off to bed."

Without replying, the little girl turned and began to walk down the passageway towards him. He thought at first she must be heading towards her cabin, but when she was halfway to him, she turned to face the door to the stairs that led to the lower decks, the ones that required an access card to open. George began to approach her. "You won't have much luck there, I'm afraid. You'll need an access card; passengers aren't allowed."

"I have no need of an access card."

"Well, no, you wouldn't, cos you're not supposed to go down there."

"I have no need of an access card," said the little girl again, and to George's befuddlement she pushed the door open with ease.

Mop still in hand, George hurried to close the distance between them, and quickly scanned his access card to open the door, making a vague mental note to ensure that the reader wasn't faulty. "Hang on, you can't go down there, kid, you're not allowed. Come on back up to your cabin and stop causing me trouble."

He still couldn't fully see her; this stairwell was more poorly lit than any place George had been on the ship thus far. But he could make out her shape, hurrying down the stairs at a steady trot. "Oi!" he called out now, irritated. "You come back up here right now."

She must have been a third-class passenger, he reasoned. He didn't see why there had to be a third class on a cruise ship. If people couldn't afford the vacation in the standard second-class cabins, then they shouldn't be allowed on board. This was the sort of thing that happened when you let her sort onto luxurious holiday boats. Children or grown-ups, George couldn't be bothered to discriminate for age. The working class were trouble, and that was that. He may have been a mere maintenance worker, but he prided himself that at least he was a level or two above this girl's family. In fact he had himself a cramped but nevertheless nice flat in fashionable Islington.

At Deck A, the little girl pushed open the door and seemed to wait for him a moment, though she kept her back to him. She gave him just enough time to grab a hold of the door before she took off like a shot into the darkness. There was hardly any lighting at all down here, and George hadn't brought his torch. "Oh, Christ," he muttered to himself.

In the poor lighting, he could just make out the little girl's silhouette, and he could hear her padding down the passageway away from him. On the concrete floor, he could tell by the sound of her little footsteps that her feet were bare. "There's something down here," she called to him, sounding quite amused and pleased with herself.

"Bloody right there's something down here," George called back, no longer caring if he cursed in front of the child or not. "Stuff you're not supposed to be around. Now, you get back here and I'll take you to your cabin. I'll bet your parents would be cross if they knew what their little girl was doing." He paused. "Who knows, maybe if you come back here right now I'll just drop you off and I won't tell them what you've been up to. But only if you come over to me right now." He was bluffing and he knew it, but he really didn't want to wander any further into the dark.

He heard the child laugh in reply, and continue down the passageway.

Brilliant.

Oh, he _really_ didn't want to walk down the dark passageway, but it looked like he was going to have to. "Ah, man up, George," he whispered to himself, and entered the darkness.

"There's something down here," the girl called to him again without slowing. George followed her down to the end of the passageway. At the end of the passageway was a watertight hatch door which led to one of the central engine rooms. _Good_ , he thought. Now he had her cornered, as there was no way a girl her size was strong enough to get that door open. Another dozen long strides and he'd grab her by the collar if he had to, drag her up to her cabin and reprimand her parents for their apparent inability to look after their child.

But to George's amazement, he could make her out as she turned the wheel on the door with alarming strength. Two creaking turns, and she opened the door, strolling into the room beyond with nonchalance. "You get back here!" he called out, at last jogging to close the distance between them, not minding the dark or any tripping hazards.

He squeezed into the engine room just as the door began to close again.

The central engine room was much better lit. The little girl was standing motionless. She was facing him but looking down at her toes, so that her hair covered her face like a veil. "This way," she said, beckoning to him with the crook of her finger. George sprinted, diving towards her, but somehow he missed and found himself landing face-first on the hard floor.

The girl giggled. "This way," she repeated, turning on her heel, and made a sharp right.

Picking himself up, George followed her. He wasn't going to run. He suddenly felt too tired to run, and he was feeling the beginning of a migraine. The fact that he still had to fix the toilet nagged at the back of his mind, but catching this brat of a girl was his priority now. "All right," he called, "you've had your fun. This is enough. It's dangerous down here."

Another right, and the girl stopped. "We're here," she said cheerfully, just as the lights brightened. "You see?"

At that moment, George did see. And he began to scream.

 

* * *

 

"Nah, you'd look too suspicious if you didn't have a trunk. Pack a nice, big one; and if you forget something, you _can_ always come back to the TARDIS, you know."

Rose appraised the Doctor sullenly as she carried a pile of folded-up shirts and deposited them into the trunk that lay open on her bed. The trunk was not hers; the Doctor had procured it from somewhere within the bowels of his great ship and it was more than half her size.

It wasn't so much that there was anything _wrong_ with the trunk, but that she had long since deemed such objects as trunks useless. Everything she needed was in the TARDIS, either in her bedroom or in the lavatory, and if there was anything else she might require, well, it was certainly to be found somewhere aboard the ship. The last time she and the Doctor had gone on an overnight trip had been back before Adam, and with the TARDIS just across the street from the room they'd rented out, she hadn't even bothered to pack her toothbrush.

"But how come I need such a big one, then?" she complained.

He crossed his arms. "You're the one wantin' to pack all that stuff," was his smooth reply.

"That's cos you said we'll be over a fortnight."

The Doctor's patience had gradually been wearing thin over the course of their argument, and at last he gave up. Rolling his eyes without making any effort to hide it, he backed out of the room where he'd been leaning in the doorframe. "Fine. Your choice. Pack whatever you like, okay? But don't complain to me when you've got to go find the TARDIS so you can grab your toothbrush."

Casually he began to stroll down the corridor towards the console room. He caught Rose making a face at him as he left. Women. How could he possibly understand them? With his countless years of knowledge and experience, never had he been able to understand how girls' brains worked. He wondered if there was a manual or something. Surely there must be, somewhere in all of time and space. Normally the Doctor disagreed with manuals, and with strict rules and guidelines in general, but at this point he was desperate. Nine hundred years with scarcely an inkling of understanding. It was pathetic.

Some time later, Rose entered the console room, hauling her trunk and looking weary. "Here," she said, pushing it towards him. "You carry it, then."

The Doctor took the trunk, though grudgingly. It was heavy, but he knew better than to argue. He leaned against the console, beginning to enter the desired coordinates. This trip, he hoped, Rose would view especially as a treat. He wanted her to hold a particular appreciation; wanted, for some reason, to enchant her more than ever. And as much as every bone in his body craved adventure, as fiercely as his twin hearts beat out a rhythm in pursuit of a fresh rush of adrenalin to keep them going, he wanted _Rose_ to have a relaxing trip. To tell the truth, ever since he'd come so close to losing her in Utah, he'd been wanting to keep her safe. Out of harm's way. So far, he hadn't been all that successful – over the past fortnight or so they'd had their fair share of nasty run-ins with many aliens of varying degrees of hostility. Even their beach picnic on the shores of Sbalsia had gone awry, interrupted by one of the planet's native species of habitually irate crabs.

He wanted Rose safe.

"You ready, then?" he said brusquely, glancing over at her leaning against the railing that encircled the elevated part of the console room.

Rose pushed off from the railing, beaming, their previous conflict forgotten. Tongue slipping between her teeth, she nodded, her whiskey-coloured eyes shining with anticipation. "Go on, then," she said. "Surprise me."

"Right." His knee holding Rose's trunk secure, the Doctor leaned over the console. His hand closed around the lever that would send them whirling off into the vortex, the TARDIS' blue box exterior whisking through time, passing through the knots and threads as that which made up the fourth dimension coiled together, one mass of past and possibility co-existing as a single entity.

One sharp tug, a click, and off they went, the room filling with the wheezing of engines. The TARDIS shook, and Rose and the Doctor were sent tumbling. They grasped the railing and held on tight, laughing like a pair of idiots the whole time. Next thing they knew there came a resounding _thud_ signalling their arrival.

A quick checking of the monitor screen confirmed that they had arrived at their intended destination and the Doctor took Rose's trunk from where it had slid halfway across the room and offered her his arm. "You ready?"

She nodded, beaming, and took it, allowing him to lead her out of the TARDIS. Beyond the doors she found that they were in a room of concrete – concrete floors and concrete walls. It was not very large, and was filled with what appeared to be motorbikes that had only one large wheel at the bottom rather than two at either end.

"How appropriate," the Doctor remarked with a smirk to Rose's puzzlement. She looked at him inquisitively. "This must be the parking area. Some people want to bring their own transportation with them."

Rose closed her eyes. She could hear the distinct hum of engines. "We on a space station?" she asked.

"Close," was the Doctor's infuriating answer. He grinned at her teasingly and escorted her out of the room. They were now in a narrow corridor, at the end of which was a large door. It appeared to be accessible only by a panel that would read ID cards, but the Doctor of course simply took out the sonic screwdriver, and a few seconds later the door slid open.

Rose and the Doctor found themselves in a stairwell that led only up. "Where are we?" Rose asked. The Doctor didn't answer. "All right," she said, squaring her shoulders. " _When_ are we?"

"The year," said the Doctor, "is 2095, and we're aboard a cruise ship."

"Oh," said Rose as they arrived at the landing. There were no more stairs leading up; only another door. "I thought boats didn't have stairs? Just ladders 'n' lifts?"

His only response was a teasing grin.

As they passed through the door, Rose found that they were in another corridor. This one was far nicer, lined in plush red carpet. A sign halfway down the corridor positioned above a sliding door read, "Viewing Deck." This was the direction in which they headed, but on the other side of the door there was no open-air deck with a railing and a view of the sea to be found. Indeed, there was not even the slightest whiff of sea air. Rather, there was a room that looked something like a posh living room, a row of lush armchairs; love seats; and sofas facing the window. And through the window there was, not a view of rocking blue-green sea, but a landscape of inky blackness dotted with stars. A few planets were visible in the distance.

Entranced, Rose dropped the Doctor's arm and wandered closer, dropping into one of the love seats as she stared with wide eyes. The Doctor came up behind her, leaning over her shoulder. "Welcome, Rose," he said, "aboard the _SS Bad Wolf_."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any suggestions as to how to improve the characterisations of Nine and Rose, please let me know, as I tend to worry especially about how I write for the various Doctors. All tips/advice/constructive criticism are hugely appreciated. Cheers! Reviews are also greatly appreciated. They can be used to help fuel the TARDIS. That's not a hint, by the way.

CHAPTER 1

 

* * *

 

 

Rose stared, still astonished, out at the view. It was, truth be told, one of the most beautiful views she had ever seen, and she had seen a great many in her travels with the Doctor. The deep dark forever of space was dappled with glinting stars and the distant glow of planets. There was another planet in close proximity to them, a colossal sphere that seemed to be made mostly of rock judging by the grey that covered its face, and Rose wondered if it was inhabited.

"It's a cruise ship," the Doctor explained to her. "Travellin' across the Milky Way galaxy. It'll go far, this ship – all the way to the Andromeda galaxy. 'Least, that's the scheduled course."

"2095, though," said Rose slowly, without tearing her eyes from the view, "it's not all that far off, is it? I mean… a spaceship – for holidaying – that can travel across two galaxies? All that progress in less'n a hundred years?"

"The year 2037," the Doctor proclaimed. "The Second Great Technological Revolution. A young genius by the name of Rajit Dara came up with a form of energy sufficient to carry enormous spacecraft – nearly as big as the _Titanic_ – as far as the edges of the galaxy, while also supporting human life. By 2045, he and his team of research scientists had improved Dara's discovery: mankind could now travel as far as the Andromeda galaxy, through advanced forms of energy conservation. The next several decades were devoted to making an industry on this revolutionary discovery: some scientists and doctors headed off on the ships, but Dara wanted to extend space travel to the civilian population. It took until 2085 to complete a ship that would be able to across the stars under the most luxurious conditions. A real cruise ship for the rich of Earth – these tickets came at no small cost, you know. They've made a few since then. The _Bad Wolf_ 's the smallest one, but even this one's more than half the size of the _Titanic_. It is, however, the first to have third-class cabins. For a much lower cost, tickets were delivered to England's working class, won through raffles and contests. Cabin conditions are rubbish, so's the food, but the decks and lounges are open to all passengers."

"But it must take an awful lot of fuel," Rose continued, only half-registering this information. The Doctor, had, after all, just gone off at lightning speed – again. "I… how much could a ticket cost?"

The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Fair bit," he stated bluntly. "This is much better, see. The TARDIS is capable of producing honest replicas of any currency in the universe, if I ever need to pay somethin'. Money isn't really necessary when you're travellin' with me."

Rose grinned and ticked them off on her fingers. "Let's see – there's the free transportation, the luxury living space, the unlimited food, the equally unlimited adrenalin, and the travel benefits. Yeah, I reckon it's a bit better'n goin' on a cruise ship. Just a mite." She paused and frowned. "Why're we here, then?"

"Well. Thought you might appreciate a bit of relaxation is all. Besides," he added, "there's a view."

Rose took a small step closer to the glass, wondering vaguely how thick it must be. At the same time, she found herself taking a step closer to the Doctor so that her head rested against his broad shoulder. She took in the view a moment longer, and then from behind she heard a small beep and the sound of an electronic door sliding open. She and the Doctor turned in tandem to find a middle-aged man in a khaki caretaker's uniform standing there, mop in hand. He took in the sight of their trunk and a frown built over his weary-looking features. "Who the hell are you?" he asked at last.

Rose looked to the Doctor. From the corner of her eye she saw one hand slide casually, into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, and pull out the psychic paper. With an easy smile she was unaccustomed to seeing on his face, he flipped open the psychic paper and offered the caretaker a hand to shake. The puzzled man took it.

"I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose Tyler. We're passengers. Just got on. Less'n an hour ago, in fact. My friend and I were just takin' in the view, and haven't even found our cabin yet. Here are our tickets… and our… confirmation of booking and payment."

The man squinted at the paper for a minute and nodded slowly. "Stragglers, then? From the last waste disposal stop?"

"That's right," said the Doctor, nodding. "We'd been doin' some work at the station as researchers and arranged to be picked up there. Much easier for us than haulin' all the way back to Earth."

Rose stepped forward and smiled hesitantly, offering her own hand, which the caretaker took. "Nice to meet you. I'm Rose."

"Alfie," replied the man, seeming a bit surprised. "Well… I reckon I'll take your trunk, then. One of the staff can show you to your cabins. Not my authority to do so meself." He crossed the room and pressed a button on a small panel on the wall, then made for the door again. "Enjoy your trip, sir, miss." He nodded his head briefly and was gone.

Rose gave the Doctor a sidelong glance. "Two cabins?" she asked, frowning.

The Doctor looked puzzled. "Well, I assumed – I mean, the paper assumed – both of us, that is – mostly me – that you'd want your own… room." He shuffled his head, his puzzlement giving way to awkwardness. "Sorry. Cos, you know, you've got your own space on the TARDIS and all. And Time Lords don't usually – I mean, if you'd prefer; I'm sure we could just ask – "

"No," Rose cut in, looking away. "No, two rooms are fine." She smiled, rather sheepishly herself. "Thought it might be easier to get one, is all. Cheaper, no?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but in that moment the door slid open and a blonde girl who looked to be Rose's age, clad in a maid's garb, entered. She inclined her head briefly. "Welcome aboard," she said. She spoke in a gentle Irish lilt. "I'll just be showing you to your cabins. You'll be on Deck J, second-class." It was all the girl said. She reached for the trunk, making as if to take it, but the Doctor stayed her hand.

"Are you sure, sir?" the maid asked nervously. "I… I'm meant to take your things; I can do it. I'd be more than happy to, sir." Her eyes – a penetrating dark, chocolate brown – betrayed her as she spoke. She had taken in the size of the trunk and it was clear she did not want to lug such a heavy, cumbersome item halfway across the ship. There was a gleam of relief, a hope that the Doctor would be stubborn and insist.

The Doctor was stubborn. He insisted. "S'alright," he said in a jovial tone that Rose wasn't sure she had ever heard coming from his lips. "You just lead the way."

The maid nodded. "Very well, sir. Miss." She turned.

Rose stepped forward, holding out a hand. "My name's Rose, by the way, and this is the Doctor. What's yours?"

She stared at Rose's extended hand in astonishment as if unsure what to do. "Maria," she said at last. "My name is Maria. I… I'll be your personal staff assistant here aboard the _SS Bad Wolf_ , and your deck's laundry-maid." She hesitated, then, looking flustered, quickly turned on her heel and led them from the viewing gallery and down the passageway towards the lifts. "We're just two decks above your own," she said over her shoulder, scanning an access card over a small panel. With a _ding_ the lift doors opened. "Unfortunately lifts are only available to first-class passengers, staff, or those with special needs. But we'll be using this one just now; I wouldn't want to haul that trunk about more that needed."

It was a lift unlike any Rose had imagined. She'd ridden in the austere block lifts in van Staten's bunker in 2012 and the sleek steel lifts, well-decorated with modern architecture, on Satellite Five in 200,000. She'd taken rides in early lifts at the dawn of the 1900s, which were her personal favourites, but the lift aboard the _SS Bad Wolf_ was unlike anything she could have imagined, at least within the claustrophobic confines of a mere lift.

Although no bigger than a lift of her own era, this one had walls lined in what appeared to be deep violet velvet and its small floor was covered in a shag carpet. The only space on the floor that was not soft and fuzzy was a metal panel covered in numbered buttons, each clearly representing a deck. In one corner sat a small plush armchair. Maria pressed the button labelled _J_ _(2)_ and with another _ding_ the doors slid shut. Musack began to play dimly in the background and the next moment, Rose felt the lift losing height. The ride was surprisingly slow – given the unnecessary luxury and the apparent extent of technological feats at the end of the century she'd assumed that the lift ride would take place in a matter of about five seconds. Instead, the lift ride lasted approximately fifty and once a cool, metallic female voice rang out, _Deck J. Second-class cabins, deck viewing gallery, vending machines and toilet facilities_.

"This way, then, if you please, sir and miss." Maria led them down a plain-looking passageway and stopped before cabins J12 and J14. "These will be your cabins. The doors will be open for now. Inside your cabins you will find your key cards, which grant you access to your rooms, as well as your welcome packages and personal loos. If you have need of anything, you can request for me or another staff member using the panels on the walls in the passageway. Enjoy your cruise."

* * *

 

The cabins were small but luxurious. Inside both Rose's and the Doctor's was a cot cramped into one corner, on which lay fluffy white towels and a soft blue duvet; a chair; and a small oak desk that doubled as a bedside table. Against one wall was a door that led to the loo.

Rose flopped back onto the bed and was surprised to discover how very soft and comfortable it was. She nestled into the soft folds of the blankets, which welcomed her. They smelled clean and fresh, a trace of a citrus odour clinging lightly to them. She did not know how long she lay there, though briefly it struck her that she had never been able to simply _relax_ over her travels with the Doctor when not aboard the TARDIS. Shortly after this, it occurred to her that she was bored, and that she might as well explore the ship.

She knocked on the door to the Doctor's cabin, but, upon receiving no response, went ahead on her own. He'd probably returned to the TARDIS, so as to gather as many items as he could with which to tinker. It would be _just like him_ to do something like try and assemble a toaster in his cabin.

Deck J was pleasant but largely un-extraordinary once you got over the splendour of it. Rose ran up and down stairs, eager to explore every deck. She was disappointed to discover that she would need a special access cards to get to Decks C, B, and A, and a signpost warned her that these decks were engine rooms, and that passenger entry was strictly prohibited. A fine of ₤6,000 was applicable to any offended.

On her way up to the uppermost decks, the resounding echo of a door being closed too quickly (or perhaps slammed) filled the stairwell. Rose jumped and turned. She leaned over the banister, idly curious. She could see no-one down below, and with a shrug to herself, Rose pulled away and continued trotting on up the stairs. Normally, running up and down so many flights of stairs would have exhausted her – or anyone, really – but Rose had been travelling with the Doctor for nearly six months now (or perhaps a while longer; it was easy to lose track of time when travelling aboard the TARDIS) and had long since grown accustomed to sprints. In comparison, running up and down many flights of stairs was a light morning jog.

The highest two decks, M and N, were home to the ship's dining and entertainment services. Such services included a library, a gaming room, a swimming pool, a gym, a playroom, an indoor playground, a billiards room, a room filled with ping-pong tables, and an onboard pub. Everything was lavish. Everything was beautiful. Everything was like falling into a dream.

Rose ordered herself a hot chocolate at the pub and sat on one of the high barstools, swinging her legs and sipping at the rich, sweet drink contentedly. She watched the mini marshmallows float around on the surface, then, slowly, melt into themselves.

She was just considering stopping for a game of ping-pong when the door to the pub room opened and shut, and a maintenance manager entered, making a beeline for a far corner table. He did not approach the bar to place his order; in fact he did not seem to want to place an order at all: when a young waiter approached him, the maintenance manager waved him away. Rose glanced over at him, but could not see his face from where she was sitting. She tried to pay him no mind, and yet as she sipped at her hot chocolate she could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. A strange feel took root in the pits of her stomach. Rose frowned, biting her lip. Quickly she drained what was left of her hot chocolate and hurried from the pub. Shortly after she left the pub, the door opened again and the maintenance manager began to shadow her footsteps.

Rose picked up speed. So did the maintenance manager.

She made a sharp turn into the stairwell at her immediate left despite her previous intentions. The caretaker turned into the stairwell too. Rose hurried down three flights of stairs, this time acutely aware of the sounds of his footsteps, following her down. At the landing of Deck L, Rose stopped and waited, making scuffing noises and quick footstep sounds on the ground with her shoes. The maintenance manager continued to following her. Just as he rounded the corner into her immediate line of vision, Rose straightened her back and suddenly exclaimed at the top of her voice, " _Oi!_ "

The caretaker simply stopped.

Rose moved forwards, mounting onto the first step. She narrowed her eyes and pointed an accusatory finger at the caretaker's chest. "You're followin' me."

"I'm not." She recognised him now – it was Alfie, the maintenance manager they had first encountered. "What d'you mind if I was havin' a pint same time as you?"

Rose did not break her gaze. "And you just… happened to have been wanderin' the ship same time as me, in all the same places, just behind me?"

She was surprised how quickly he broke. He looked down and scuffed his feet, looking momentarily like a scolded child. When Alfie raised his head again he met her gaze, and there was a desperation in his eyes. "I'm sorry, all right!" he burst out. "It's just, y'know. It's bleedin' weird, what with you and your boyfriend showin' up midway through the ship's route and all. No-one does that as a rule, y'know, not ever, on all the ships I've worked on! And the board's so stingy and all, Lord knows how you arranged that late pick-up point. Ain't normal, you and 'im. And what with the recent events, it's just... weird."

Rose frowned. "Recent events?"

"Well – _weird_ stuff, y'know. Spooky. Not that it's a concern of the passengers, 'course."

"Oh, come on. You've got my attention now. I like weird. Spooky. Sort of my, I dunno, _thing_."

"Well," Alfie looked nervous. He gulped and looked around briefly, removing his hat and raking his hand through his hair. "All right. Just so long as you don't go spreadin' this stuff around. No need for the passengers to know; though a handful know already. Er, unavoidable… " Alfie took a deep breath. "Listen. Something's not right on this ship. There've been… disappearances. People gone missing and that."

"Missing?" Rose repeated. "Aboard the ship?"

Alfie nodded. "One of my partners, Head maintenance manager. George, he was called. And someone else, too. An old woman. Passenger. They just… vanished." He hesitated. "This cruise lasts three weeks. It's been ten days, and two people have gone missing. The woman, she disappeared yesterday. A Mrs Griffiths. She's got a son with her on the ship, so he knows of course, and he's very upset. The board's worried he'll sue."

Rose continued studying Alfie, who now looked near tears. She took a few steps towards him, small and hesitant, making to place a hand on his shoulder, but he turned sharply away.

"Anyway," he muttered. "Better get back to work. 'Scuse me." And the next moment he turned on his heel and hurried back upstairs.

Rose watched him go, then turned herself and hurried back down to Deck J. She pounded on the door to the Doctor's cabin, and after a moment, he opened the door.

"What?"

Rose stood on tiptoe in an attempt to see over his shoulder, expecting to see the desk surface covered in wires and scraps of metal and God-knew-what-else. This suggested that he had been doing nothing, which surprised her so much that she momentarily forgot what she had come down to tell him. "What're you doin'?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Nothing."

Rose hesitated, because it was quite possible he had been "doing nothing"; he did that sometimes, aboard the TARDIS, when he thought she wasn't looking. He called it doing nothing. She called it brooding. "Can I come in?" she asked at last.

He didn't answer her right away, but at last he nodded gruffly and stepped aside. Rose entered his room and dropped down onto the bed, making herself comfortable. Indeed, he had not taken any measures to personalise the small space or make it utterly bizarre at all. The cabin room did not look as though a nuclear bomb had just gone off under the bed. "So you've just been doin'… nuffin'?" she asked at last. Her eyes skirted to a small pamphlet sitting near the pillow and picked it up.

"All right, I was reading the welcome package." He said it like he was ashamed, and Rose held back a laugh as her expression grew more serious.

"Doctor, listen. When I was explorin' the ship, there was this caretaker. Same one that we first met, Alfie. He was followin' me, and I confronted him and… " She hesitated, not missing the way his brows knit in concentration, forming a grave expression. "… well, he told me, that something's not right on the ship."

"How d'you mean?"

So she told him everything Alfie had told her. When she was finished, he nodded slowly, the grave expression never faltering. At least, not until, after a long silence had passed, Rose prompted somewhat awkwardly, "So… what d'you reckon, then?"

He had been leaning against the desk, now he pushed off and began to pace the small area, hands folded behind his back. "Well, we've got almost nothin' to go on, for one thing, other than the fact that there aren't any bodies. People've just gone missing… "

"But we can gather they're – dead, then, right?"

"Probably," mused the Doctor. "Unless they're being held captive somewhere."

"What for?"

"Anything," the Doctor returned dismissively. "Information, slow extraction of life, threat, eventual ransom, eventual meal, scientific purposes… anything."

"Any aliens you know… prone to kidnapping people?"

"Oh, half of 'em."

"Or… taking them and killing them?"

"Oh, most of 'em."

"Brill," Rose muttered under her breath, then looked up sharply. "Hang on. What about cameras and that? Wouldn't they be able to catch where people've gone?"

"CCTV was outlawed on long-term transportation vessels such as these in 2073 due to privacy concerns," the Doctor replied dully. "Thickest law you humans ever passed, you ask me. Well, except for all the segregation laws, anyway. 'S why the ship is covered in emergency stations instead. If something goes wrong, you just press a button."

Rose sighed. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Doctor cut her off sharply. "Hang on. You said the old woman that disappeared had a son?" Rose nodded. "What was his name?"

"Dunno. He didn't tell me. Her name was Griffiths, though."

"Hmm. Well, everyone eats meals in the same dining hall, yeah?"

"I think so."

The Doctor beamed. "Feel like makin' a friend or two?"

* * *

 

Frankly, Rose had expected to find the typical staples of British cuisine at the buffet: steak-and-kidney pie; meat and potatoes; pea soup; and suspicious lumps of green things. Rose, then, who had been raised on a diet consisting largely of steak-and-kidney pie; meat and potatoes; pea soup; and suspicious lumps of green things claiming to be good for her, was pleasantly surprised to find a variety of exotic dishes, including asparagus in some kind of Asian sauce and strips of succulent pork tenderloin. Rose, who didn't think she had ever had asparagus before in her life, served herself a generous portion of the dish.

The Doctor, serving himself his supper next to her, glanced over at Rose's selection with a cocked brow. "No beans on toast?"

"'S not breakfast." Rose served herself a small heap of mashed potatoes. She nodded at his own choice of dinner, a small piece of steak and heaps of lettuce. He had not put any dressing on his salad. "Bit bland, that, no?"

He took a piece of lettuce and popped it into his mouth with a shrug. "The stuff's good plain. What is it with you humans needing everything to be _dripping_ with _flavour_?" His own voice dripped disdain.

Rose flashed him a dirty look and marched over to settle down at a table, but the Doctor followed her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned, looking irritated, but her expression morphed into one of puzzlement as he nodded to a passenger sitting at a corner table alone. He was young, under 30, sitting chin in hand. He picked at his food and did not touch it. "That bloke," said the Doctor in low tones. "Something's upsettin' him."

"No, really?"

"Yes, really," the Doctor either missed or chose to ignore her sarcasm. "And it's not just by lookin' at him that I can. He's worried, and depressed. 'S practically rolling off him. I can feel it, all the way from over here."

"You can feel people's feelings?" asked Rose, surprised.

He shrugged in modesty. "Sure. Time Lord. Psychic. Low-level telepathy."

"So… you can read my thoughts?"

"Oh, no, nothin' like that. Can't usually tell what people are feeling unless it's strong, and either very long-lasting or real new. Think of it like a smell. It's like a strong whiff in the air. You humans, your noses are rubbish. Can't smell nothin' unless it either smells particularly good or really reeks. Same with Time Lords and emotions."

"Oh," said Rose, relieved. Knowing that the TARDIS got inside her head to translate languages had been enough of an invasion of privacy.

"Anyway," the Doctor carried on, "there's room at his table. What d'you reckon?"

They crossed the room, settling down across from the young man, who started. "Oh. Hello." He offered both a shaky, uncertain smile, then looked back down at his food. Perhaps because the Doctor and Rose were looking at him, the man forked a small amount of mushrooms into his mouth, then returned to picking at his food.

"I'm Rose, and this is the Doctor," Rose smiled. "We're on Deck J. Just got on; we were picked up at the, er… waste disposal stop." The man lifted his eyes to look at her. "Is it nice here?"

He lifted a shoulder. "It isn't bad."

"Lots to do?" asked the Doctor with one of his ridiculously broad, toothy smiles. Rose cast him a sidelong glance.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," said the man vaguely. Then, at last, he seemed to remember himself and he looked up, shaping his features into a sad shadow of a polite smile. "My name's Stephen, by the way. Stephen Griffiths."

The Doctor inclined his head. Then he said quite suddenly – _far too suddenly_ in Rose's opinion, and she cringed internally, "Here with anyone, then?"

Stephen had been in the middle of forked some more mushrooms into his mouth. The fork stopped in midair, and he seemed at a loss of what to say. He tightened his jaw and didn't answer, his gaze wandering sideways. Rose was suddenly reminded of the same look she had seen far too many times in the Doctor's eyes. It was a look that came up whenever she made an offhanded remark about, say, family – not _hers_ but family in general, or anything else that she had come to realise triggered memories in the Time Lord.

Rose glanced over at the Doctor and nodded her head briefly. He sat back, allowing for her to lean over the table and placing one hand over Stephen's. She smiled at him, kindly, and the young man looked up, looking a little frightened. "Listen," said Rose, gently, softly. "We… know about your gran. And we're sorry. But the Doctor and me, we're going to do what we can. Find out what happened. Maybe we can still help her."

Perhaps it was the way she'd said it, truly meaningfully. Even in that moment Rose suspected that the staff on the ship had been rough in their sympathies. Perhaps he sensed that she and the Doctor might actually try and help. Or perhaps it was just the fact that she'd said _something_ of real substance. Either way, Stephen's lips curved upward into a small, tremulous smile. He looked close to tears. "Thank you," he whispered.

"But… to help you," Rose went on, "we're going to need you to tell us everything you know."

Stephen nodded, quickly pulling his hand away. He straightened his spine, trying to recover. "Right. Well. Nothing much, really. That's the worst part of it. It's all very suspicious. She and I share a cabin; couldn't afford two separate ones. And… well, early in the morning she woke up, you see. She was shuffling around putting on her robe, and then I woke up and I asked her where she was going. We're in second-class, so we have our own private loo and all. She said she had to go out. I asked her why, was she feeling okay, did she need some air, water, that sort of thing. She just said she needed to step outside. And then… she didn't come back."

Rose glanced back at the Doctor. His brow was furrowed, in the way it got when he was concentrating very hard.

"Just… please try to help her," Stephen said suddenly. His voice had gotten small. He sounded a little pathetic. "If you can. Try and find out what happened."

"Don't worry," said Rose soothingly, as she might have done a frightened child. "We'll do everything we can."

 

* * *

 

A high-ceilinged room.

Concrete floor.

Towering contraptions of metal and pipes and cords and rust.

Shadows.

Voices, whispering.

" _They were weak. Useless, and not even tasty. I am disappointed._ " The first voice cut through the darkness, low and guttural. Although it had but one source, it had almost an echoing effect. It could have been ten voices or twelve or a thousand.

" _We sought out those we understood_." This voice was higher, softer, but angrier. It, too, spoke in a voice woven of many layers. " _We caught them and their fear was more than enough_. _It shall soon be time_."

" _No!_ _You are foolish. If we are to succeed, then we must gather more. Your youth betrays you. You are naïve, ignorant, and if not for your talents then I would have you sent back._ "

Shrieks, cries, sounding like many frightened or injured small children. The voices spoke as one, about a dozen of them. The effect of all their voices together was terrible, and it was beautiful. " _No! No! No!_ _We cannot go back. We do not want to go back. We want to move forward. We want to the beacon, the source, the glorified. We shall not go back._ "

The guttural voice again. " _I apologise. That was not right of me_."

" _We miss the golden times_ ," spoke several of the creatures, whatever they might have been, at once. " _We miss the days of red grass and peace and strength and plentiful meals. We want the golden days back_."

" _They are past. There is no way to return to the golden times._ "

" _But we may have one last taste_ ," spoke the high voice. " _I look forward to it_. _He is here now_. _He has arrived._ "

Giggles. Laughter. The sounds filled the engine room, bouncing off every inch of concrete, curling and crawling and swirling around every bit of rusting metal. The others picked up the high voice's words and repeated them like a mantra. " _He has arrived… he has arrived… he has arrived…_ "

They kept saying it all through the night.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

* * *

 

Rose woke up early the next morning. She stretched as she sat up, happy to enjoy the feeling of soft covers and fresh sheets, of her own enclosed little room. It struck her that she had never been able to bask in such peace in a long time. It was always too chaotic aboard the TARDIS to relax, really, and too exciting besides. She didn't want to relax when she was aboard the TARDIS. And back home in London, the concept of relaxation, of sleeping in in the morning, was laughable.

Rose ran a hand through her sleep-mussed hair, then flopped back onto the pillows with a contended sigh.

Then again, there were the disappearances to deal with. So maybe there wouldn't be quite as much time to do nothing as she'd have hoped. Rose could not let herself be terribly upset. After all, what was life with the Doctor without adventure and risk? A trip with the Doctor without life-threatening stakes would be like visiting Piccadilly, only without the traffic. The only thing to worry about, she thought lazily, were the disappeared people. And they'd figure it all out in the end, she and the Doctor. They always had, always would. She would think and worry about them, George and Mrs Griffiths… right… after… breakfast…

She only lounged about a couple more minutes before she began to feel bored. She got up, entered the lav to wash her face. She changed out of her nightie into some jeans and a jumper and brushed her hair, tied into a couple of braids. Then she knocked on the Doctor's cabin door. There was, at first, no answer. She rapped on the door a little louder. "Oi," she called, not too loudly. "You up yet?"

The door swung open. The Doctor stood there, fully dressed. "Good, you're awake," he said by way of a morning greeting. "Come on, then."

They headed to the dining hall for their breakfast, without saying much really. Rose sipped her tea and picked at her kippers, surprised by the lack of hunger she felt. The Doctor didn't seem terribly hungry either, nibbling at his toast remarkably slowly. At last, with her kippers half-finished and all but abandoned on her plate, she leaned forward over the table. "Y'know," she said, "I think we ought to ask around, find out if anyone else has figured out anything weird's goin' on. Noticed something, maybe."

The Doctor had been in the middle of taking a long drag of coffee – it was rubbish coffee, truth be told; half-stale and still too sodding hot. He drank it anyway, even as it singed his tongue. That was okay. It was good to feel something once in a while. Now he broke into a wide grin and set his mug down on the table. "There you go, Rose Tyler. Fantastic, you are." A pause. "Why wasn't that the first thought that popped into _my_ head?" he added in a mock-annoyed tone, and Rose laughed.

"Come on, you," said Rose, swatting his shoulder. "Let's head on. Tell you what. I'll hang around by the pool and talk to some people, and you do… " She shrugged. "I dunno, whatever it is you do. I guess."

The Doctor nodded curtly. He didn't need to say anything more. The pair got up then, dropping their dishes off near the kitchen.

Rose had woken up later than she'd realised; the dining hall was nearly empty. She supposed the rest of the passengers must have already headed off to their activities.

Out in the passageway, a crowd had formed in a circle around something. Rose could hear whispers, all of them laced with concern and fright. People were pushing and shoving to get closer to the front. A few gasps.

The Doctor's brows knit together into a severe frown, and he arched his neck, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. Rose stood on tiptoe, trying to get a view herself, but with no such luck. Suddenly the Doctor's eyes widened, just for a moment, and he began to shove and shoulder his way to the front of the crowd. "'Scuse me, sorry, professional comin' through." At the front of the throng he stopped dead, looking down at his feet.

Next thing Rose knew, he was calling her name, reaching out a hand. She hurried forward, clasping his rough, calloused hand in hers, muttering apologies as she pushed past people. Once she was by his side, she looked down, too, and froze.

Two bodies lay at the heart of the crowd; one, a birdlike old woman, the other a middle-aged man in caretaker's uniform. Their eyes were open and cruelly blank. The man's mouth remained wide open as if he had been screaming when he died, and his back was arched. He lay more stiffly than the woman; his body felt colder. Clearly he had died a few days before her. Despite this, he did not release an unpleasant smell, and showed no visible signs of rot.

Rose glanced up at the Doctor, wide-eyed. He showed no signs of noticing her, or any of his other surroundings save the two bodies on the floor. Around her, she could process the whispers and mutters of the other passengers; the lot of them were frightened and confused, but nobody had begun to panic – not yet. To Rose this seemed remarkably strange; if it had been her (before the Doctor, anyway), or anyone else she knew (namely her mum), the screams and shouts and panicked demands to speak to someone would have started by now.

"'Scuse me, 'scuse me, is there some kind of problem?" Alfie's voice sounded from down the corridor. The passengers seemed to recognise his authority; making way for him. Alfie pushed forward, then looked down.

Alfie blanched, swayed on his feet slightly. "Jesus bloody Christ," he whispered. " _Je_ sus… " Then he straightened his spine and cleared his throat. "All right, everyone out, please! This is not passenger business. Everyone, please clear out, this deck is closed for today! This matter will be dealt with by our onboard staff! Everyone out, please; this deck is now closed!" He dealt with the matter so efficiently that Rose found herself gaping at him for a few moments, rooted dumbly to the spot.

Around her, the people began to do as they were told, happy to have instructions to follow. They shuffled out, making for the stairwells. The first-class passengers made for the lifts.

The Doctor pushed forward against the surging crowd towards Alfie, and after remembering herself, Rose followed him. Alfie was speaking into what appeared to be a walkie-talkie attached to his wrist, although Rose could not see one. She supposed people must have figured out how to make very small walkie-talkies over the course of a hundred years if such a period was enough to haul a shipload of people beyond the reaches of the galaxy. The caretaker's voice was thin and frightened. "All right, yeah, all right. I'll do that then. Over and out." He turned and jumped at the sight of the Doctor looming over him. "Excuse me, sir, 'fraid you'll have to clear out; this deck is now closed."

The Doctor made no move to oblige. "Listen. Can I ask you a question, mate? How do you intend to deal with this… matter?"

"'Fraid that we can't deal with questions at this time, sir. Every passenger's just as concerned as you are."

The Doctor seemed to stand taller, and Rose hovered uncomfortably beside him. "D'you remember me?" he demanded.

Alfie was surprisingly blasé. "Oh, sure. You and your lady friend here came on late and all. Bleedin' weird, that. But the same rule still applies. Can't share any information." The Doctor remained rooted to the spot. Rose felt embarrassed for him. "Look." Alfie sighed. "I get that the both of you's used to solving problems on that station o' yours. Like being a couple o' Good Samaritans. You're probably high-ups or somethin', am I right? But we haven't even dealt with this ourselves yet, for cryin' out loud. This isn't passenger business. Now if you don't mind, _Sir_ " – and there was no missing the twinge of sarcasm on this last word – "you'll both of you clear out of this deck and leave it all up to the ship management and staff personnel."

The point had been made. The Doctor and Rose made for their cabins. Rose had been hoping to debrief, as they tended to do, but the Doctor was in such a bad mood that she decided her best move was to head over to the pool and see what she could find out, effectively avoiding him by the widest margin possible.

He spoke to her as she went out, without looking up. He was writing notes down, stray thoughts and observations, in that strange language of his composed all of circles. "Oi. Do talk to some people, yeah? Don't just spend the day loungin' about with a pool noodle."

She raised one eyebrow. "What d'you take me for?"

He smirked, looking up to meet her eyes now. "Well, you know what you humans are like."

* * *

 

Rose had been expecting a large, deep pool, maybe with a diving board. She had been expecting a spacious deck with, perhaps, a few fold-up lounge chairs on which to sit. Maybe a Jacuzzi for the first-class passengers.

The pool was about as large as she'd imagined, which was in all honesty quite big. What she had not imagined was a three-tier diving structure, two slides, a Tarzan rope, and a bin the size of her bed filled with pool noodles, floatation devices, and other pieces of pool equipment. One door on the far end of the deck led to a smaller, children's pool, with child-sized slides and a rope.

Rose selected a floatation device and lay upon it. She had eaten too recently to swim laps just yet. She would, she figured, sit about and wait for someone to turn up. Her hopes for relaxation were gone, replaced with an intense curiosity, excitement. There were questions to address, questions of which she hungered for the answers. She couldn't remember ever feeling this curious before.

She lazed about on the floater for a good while longer, then began to swim laps. She had done nearly a dozen and only stopped to rest a couple of times when she heard, in a moment of lifting her head above water for breath, the sound of the mechanical door sliding open. Automatically her head slid underwater, making her swallow of mouthful of water, then she came back up again, coughing.

"… you all right there, Miss?"

Rose rubbed the chlorinated water from her eyes, and blinked hard a few times. Maria the laundry-maid was standing on the pool deck, her expression a mix of concern and amusement. Rose swam over to her. "Yeah, fine, thanks." She frowned as she reached the deck, recalling what the Irish girl had told her yesterday. "Thought you only did the cleanin' on Deck J?"

"I do," Maria explained, "but, well, we lost our Head of Maintenance a while back, and this was his job. We take it in shifts now."

"Oh." Rose pulled herself from the water, sitting on the edge of the pool deck with her feet in the water. "You got a time limit or somethin'? D'you want a hand?"

She looked embarrassed at the notion; perhaps she thought Rose was making fun of her. "You're a passenger, Miss. You came here to relax, enjoy yourself. I came here to make a bit of money to live on."

Rose shrugged, standing now. "But there ain't any rules sayin' I can't lend you a hand if I fancy, are there?" When Maria still looked sceptical, Rose said flatly, "Listen. You can tell by my accent I'm not used to all this livin' in luxury. You look like you could do with some help, and I feel like helping." Nothing. "Listen, before my, er, latest job, I was working in the shop. And before that I was cleanin' the floors of the local bank after hours."

She'd broken a barrier. Maria smiled, timidly but genuinely, then nodded. "Well, all right, then. If you really want to, Miss, I could do with a bit of help. I've never done the pool before." Another pause. "My cleaning cart's just out there. Would you mind wheeling it in while I got get a mop? I just need to mop it, really, and wipe down the lounging chairs. Net out the water. It's not a very big job."

"Sure." Rose wrapped herself in a thick, fluffy towel wheeled in the cart as Maria approached a small storage cupboard a short ways down the passageway. Rose had noticed one on her deck as well, and, now that she thought about it, on the deck she and the Doctor had first entered. Maria opened it with a swipe of her access card.

Maria gave Rose a damp cloth and showed her how to wipe the seats and armrests, how much cleaning solution with which to douse the cloth. She mopped while Rose wiped, and as they worked, Rose stirred up a conversation.

"Pool's empty, isn't it? Thoughts loads of people'd be hangin' about. I didn't think I'd be able to get a break."

Maria blinked. "Miss, don't you know?"

"I dunno. And it's Rose, remember? If I can call you by your name, only makes sense for you to call me by mine."

"About… " Maria looked, for a moment, like a frightened child. "… well, this morning… "

"Oh, that." Rose nodded. "Wasn't sure how far the word had been spread, but… yeah. I was there."

"Everyone knows." Maria shrugged. "Nearly everyone is shut away in their cabins. They're frightened. And, er, we're not to start encouraging passengers to enjoy their cruise and not to fret until tomorrow. Captain's orders."

Rose frowned. "Have you figured anythin' out yet?"

Maria had stopped mopping the deck. Those dark brown eyes of hers were wide, and for Rose the impression of a frightened child only grew stronger. "Nothing. No-one can understand it, you see. We have experts onboard, medical staff. They haven't told us cleaning staff very much, but no-one can even figure out how those people died. And George – he was our Head of Maintenance – died well before the woman, but he's in nearly the same state! No signs of decay at all." She shook her head. "No-one understands."

Rose cocked her head to one side, thinking. "D'you reckon they'd accept passengers' help? Not anyone, I mean. But er, me and the Doctor, we were working in those sorts of fields," she said, inwardly praying the psychic paper would be able to produce useful credentials.

"I don't know. I doubt it."

"Well. Tell you what. I'll be seein' you around, yeah? Maybe we could help some. Least share some ideas." Rose paused. "Y'know, if you find anythin' else out… "

Maria bit her lip. "I don't think I'd be allowed to do that." She paused.

"How old are you, anyway?" Rose asked.

"Twenty," Maria answered.

"You're not even much older'n me," said Rose, frowning. "Just by a year." She had meant to ask what got a girl like Maria stuck in a job like this one, where she was overworked and under-respected. But, she supposed, she already knew the answer.

Maria just shrugged.

"Listen," said Rose, "it's just… you're smart. You're nice. We'd appreciate your help."

"I might be in trouble," Maria muttered, but then she nodded. "But I'll see if maybe I can do a thing or two to help you." She smiled, for the first time not timidly but earnestly. "Besides, not many passengers are very polite to the staff, not even the second-class. Even the third-class passengers can be rude. You're something entirely new."

Rose nodded. She'd gotten that a lot.

* * *

 

The Doctor patted his breast pocket, double-checking for the psychic paper and his trusty sonic screwdriver. The passageways were quite deserted – no surprise there. A few corpses showed up, and what else were the rich little apes supposed to do? Retreat into their hidey holes and sulk and tut about the inconvenience of it all, and you'd think that the security would be better, wouldn't you dear?

He'd spent an hour or so pacing his small cabin room, his mind turning. He'd actually tried, at one point, to head on up to the deck on which the bodies had been found again, only to find it sealed off. A scan of his access card denied him entry, prompting an "Error – No Access" message.

After that, he'd gone over to the TARDIS, fiddling with and sonicking his access card until it appeared he had gotten the desired results. Unfortunately, a visit to the Deck M landing found a security guard, informing him lunch was being served one deck below today.

Now, he was wandering a narrow passageway on Deck D. The welcome pamphlet had informed him that he'd find a very small attached passageway leading to the captain's cabin. " _Passengers may direct concerns of ship security or official requests to the Captain with permission of Bad Wolf staff_ ," the pamphlet had read.

At the end of the passageway the Doctor saw a door, leading to a narrower passageway, and a small sign reading "Captain's Cabin." He did not need his access card to open the door. The sides of the passageway seemed to house the high-ranking staff members, and at the end of the narrow passageway was another door. It was blocked by a security guard. He was a large fellow, big enough to be hired as a bouncer, but he lacked any outward aggressive disposition. He nodded at the Doctor as he approached, then held up a palm.

"Sorry, sir," he said, in a strong Manchester accent. "Captain's cabin is off-limits to passengers."

The Doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets, arranged his features into a confused expression. "Oh, sorry. Just thought, how, you know, it said on the pamphlet… er… if we had requests, or concerns… "

"Security concerns, yeah," replied the guard. "You can direct 'em to the Captain."

"Well, that's what I've got. A security concern. Is there somewhere else I can direct it to the Captain, or… ?"

"No, passengers can just come here."

"Oh. Good. Can I talk to the captain, then?"

The guard shook his head, regretfully. "Not at the moment, sir. We understand there's been a breach in security. Bit of panic, but it's nothing to worry about."

"Oh, sorry," said the Doctor, letting his annoyance show now. "Cos far as I understand, a couple o' bodies showing up in the main deck's a wee bit of a security concern worth expressin'. Strikes me as something to worry about." He shuffled on his feet.

"Sir – "

"I mean, I don't know, really. I just thought that the _Bad Wolf_ would be takin' the necessary precautions, make sure the passengers don't panic. Us poor sods paid a lot for these tickets."

"Don't worry, sir," said the security manager, smiling in a reassuring, practised sort of way. "We've got everything under control."


	4. Chapter 3

 

CHAPTER 3

* * *

 

_The grass, once soft and vibrant in pigment, has gone a dry, crusty dark red, like congealed blood. It makes a crunching noise under his boots. He traverses the field, or what was once a field at any rate, and does his best to ignore the bodies._

_There's a barn in the distance, and two small barrack-houses, and this becomes his destination. He steps over the body of a small boy, no older than three. As he approaches the barn, he spies the tall wooden post that has always been stationed just behind the barracks. Ropes and strings are attached to it sometimes so that the children may play games. Today, there are ropes – strong, sturdy rope – but something else is attached as well._

_The girl is about six years old, and her robes – the drab burgundy colours of orphanage uniform – have been ripped aggressively around her abdomen, revealing the wounds where her stomach has been cut open. The child's eyes are open and wide, and her feet are bare. Her narrow, pale face has been branded in strange dirt markings, carefully done. They streak and mar the soft skin._

_She has been dead for about three days._

_He can tell by the smell. Of rot and of emptiness, a tiny shell void of life for far too long._

_He stops at the foot of the post, and hesitantly touches the hem of the child's robes. They are worn and frayed; she is probably somewhere between the sixth and the ninth to use these._

_The little girl is not the first dead orphan to show up, marked and branded and all ripped up, and he doubts she will be the last. Her kind have been showing up all around the city and in its outskirts, limp and empty trophies of enemy victory._

_From the barracks, hordes of children begin to pour out, boys and girls, all of them different ages. They crowd around him, and their eyes wander up to their fellow orphan. They do not cry and shriek; they do not even seem frightened. Then their eyes wander to him, and in their depths, where there should be youth and laughter and innocence, there is anger instead._

_"This is your fault," says a little boy towards the front._

No, it isn't _, he thinks, but the children hear him anyway. They form a circle around him._

_"This is your fault."_

_"It's not. I never touched her!"_

_"This is your fault."_

_"It's not! Clear off, kids, before you get hurt."_

_"No, it isn't_ ," _the children all agree as one. "But something will be."_

_Then their robes curl and smoke, and catch fire, and then the children begin to burn too, and the whole while they just stand there staring at him in hatred. He does not linger. He runs away instead, but now the field is burning and finally he starts to hear the screams of pain._

_He flees for the barn, because somehow he knows that in the barn he will find his escape. The barn will remain standing, in the dream; even as the rest of the planet burns away, it will remain intact. He sits on the straw-covered floor and covers his ears and covers his nose and covers his heart, but it doesn't work really._

_He knew it would never work._

_The barn bursts into golden flames, and among the cries that are still audible outside he starts to burn too, feels the flames pulsating at his very core._

He woke up screaming.

* * *

 

It wasn't the first time Rose had heard him during the night. The first time had been after Charles Dickens and she'd woken up, frightened and worried. She'd hurried for his room and knocked on his door, calling through and asking if he was all right. There had been no response. She'd peered in through the keyhole but had been able to see nothing.

There had been other, similar incidents. The next one had followed the Slitheens in Downing Street; another after a visit to the artificial planet of Haven; and then again after the incident in Utah 2012. Each time Rose had tried to come to him, to comfort him, but to no avail.

Now, she woke, eyes snapping open. She lay there, her vision not yet adjusted to the darkness, listening to his cries. For just one moment she hesitated, then, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, slipping her feet into her fuzzy pink slippers. She opened the door very quietly, and crept out into the passageway. She knocked softly on his door.

The screaming began to lessen, but she could still hear his heavy breathing, panting, deep, hungry gasps, as if he were trying to suck all the air he could into his lungs. She knocked a little louder, but he either chose to ignore her or was unaware of her.

Rose paused, her fingers stroking the doorknob, toying with the idea. The tiniest of turns, and she was surprised to find that it was unlocked.

A whimper, or what sounded like one.

"What the hell," she muttered to herself, and turned the doorknob all the way. The door swung open.

The Doctor didn't seem to notice her, not at first. He was encased in his own prison. The sheets were knotted about his legs; the duvet had fallen in a tangled heap to the floor. The Doctor was shirtless, and his face and back were drenched in sweat. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were stretched open wide and tortured in a silent plea for liberation.

"Doctor?" she whispered, coming to sit on the edge of his bed. His eyes screwed shut tight, then snapped open as he turned to face her. He started, then yanked up the sheets to cover himself.

"Christ, Rose!" He tried to look annoyed.

Rose ignored him. She lifted a hand, hesitantly, as if she were about to take hold of a fireplace poker still glowing a gentle orange-red, and touched his shoulder. He was still trembling. His muscles tensed at her touch; she could feel them tightening under her fingers; then he relaxed. His head drooped.

"In the war," he said suddenly, and Rose jumped – she hadn't been expecting him to open up – "there were quiet periods. Just tense times, like a cold war. It was a long war. And it wasn't all battlefields and explosions, wasn't all the Daleks. There were paradoxes and black holes, and attacks on civilians. Some of our enemies would kidnap civilians, maim the bodies, and then put 'em on display in public. Trophies of their victory.

"The High Council resented that. We had soldiers, hunting out the enemy in populated areas, and extra guards. They did a decent job, too, they did. The killings started to cease."

There was a dull, empty look in his eyes, and his voice was almost monotonous, as if he were reciting from a textbook.

"They killed kids, too. From the city sometimes. Other times, they'd get the ones from the orphanage. High Council wouldn't intervene then. No-one cared about the orphans."

Rose hesitated. "How come?" she finally ventured.

He snorted and looked at her scornfully, as if she'd just asked if water was vegan.

"You kiddin' me? The High Council carin' a scrap about the orphans? You didn't want to be an orphan on Gallifrey. Meant no-one wanted you, most o' the time." He shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Anyway, fact is, the bodies would show up days later. And… "

Suddenly the Doctor seemed to forget his half-naked state as he all but leapt to his feet. "Of, of course! Rose, listen." He sat next to her on the bed, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Why would the bodies show up?"

"Er." Rose trod carefully. "Because… they wanted to show they were powerful? Winnin'? Scare people?"

He held up a finger in the air, excitedly. "The bodies. The bodies on the ship. What's the point of placin' 'em in the passageway? To show people they're here; scare the passengers. Most of the races what did that in the War would maim the bodies. But these people were intact." He shot to his feet again.

Rose looked up at him. "Does that narrow it down any?"

He began to pace the small space. "Some. Still plenty that would just display the bodies. The bein'-dead part was enough to instil fear." He ticked a few off on his fingers. "Sycorax. Silurian. Dyrfain. Slitheen; sometimes they'd hang abandoned skin suits. Garde. Maiyae. Few others I might be forgettin'." The Doctor's face shone with manic excitement, then he sagged onto the bed again.

He looked over at her. "Anyway, it's late. Get yourself back to bed, Rose Tyler." He smiled softly now.

Rose wanted to ask him more. She wanted to ask if he was all right now, even though she knew he wasn't. She wanted to ask what his dreams were about, even if she had a general idea.

But instead, she nodded, and stood up. "Night, Doctor. Sleep well."

He didn't reply, and she finally left the room, shutting the door behind her. As it slipped home neatly into its frame, Rose thought she heard shaky breathing again, but she might have been wrong.

Later, lying in her bed, trying to fall back asleep, Rose wondered if he'd put on the guise of over-excitement for her or for himself.

She fell asleep before she could come up with an answer.

* * *

 

He had breakfast alone that day. By the time he'd dragged himself out of bed, Rose was gone. He was relieved, to be perfectly honest. He wasn't in the mood to talk with anyone really, much less Rose. She would nag him, and she would ask if he was all right, and he didn't want that.

He scraped an omelette onto his plate and drained a bitter coffee, then wandered into the games room. Life had made its way back onto the ship, put itself back together. A ragtag bunch of men and women mucked about, playing games of ping-pong and pool.

The Doctor settled down on a chair, crossing one leg over the other. He watched the humans at their games, watched their every move. They all seemed too clueless and oblivious to have any information – hell, they probably weren't even the sort that had information without realising they had information.

Fantastic. Rose had probably made a whole horde of useful little friends who knew all kinds of things by now. Maybe she had even run into Stephen again. The Doctor wasn't sure how useful he'd prove in the long run, but he must have _something_ to offer.

"'Scuse me." A man of about forty, the same age the Doctor appeared to be, approached him. "Sorry, but… would you, er, happen to be a ping-pong player? I mean, would you care to… ?"

No. Bugger off, tend to your fun and don't involve me.

"Sure," the Doctor grunted. He got up and stretched. "Why not. I've got a decent arm, me."

The man nodded, leading him over to one of the empty ping-pong tables and handing him a racquet. Unexpectedly, the man reached over and shook the Doctor's hand. "Josh, by the way."

"Er. The Doctor."

Josh cocked an eyebrow. "How about just giving me your name?"

_Just the Doctor_ was usually his response to this, but he sensed that Josh was one of those blokes who embraced his utter and complete masculinity, in a good-natured sort of way, and would probably just throw a fuss. The Doctor didn't have the energy for a fuss.

"Dr Tyler," he said, then cringed internally. _Tyler? What was he thinking?!_

"Hmm," Josh replied, dissatisfied, taking his racquet again. "Well." He produced a small ping-pong ball and hit in across the table to the Doctor. It bounced sideways. The Doctor lunged and hit it back.

They want back and forth like that for a while, falling into the neat rhythms of the simple game, until Josh suddenly dropped his arm to his side and shook his head, chuckling sort of defeatedly.

"Sorry. Just… well, I reckon it's hard on all of us. Everyone's _scared_."

The Doctor set his racquet down. "You mean yesterday. The bodies."

"'course. I mean, it's spooky, isn't it? Not right. I was talking with my wife and she couldn't get it either. Why the bodies weren't all rotted, and why they won't tell us anything. Did you get this under your door this mornin'?" Josh fumbled in his pocket, producing a small slip of paper no bigger than a business card. It didn't look familiar to the Doctor. He shook his head, and Josh passed it over to him.

In tiny print it read:

To our valued passengers:

_Word has spread of the disturbing and tragic incident that occurred yesterday morning on Deck M. The crew of the SS Bad Wolf is putting forward every effort to investigate this matter thoroughly. If you are experiencing any anxiety or fear please do not hesitate to locate a member of staff, who will put you in touch with someone to speak to._

_Due to an unexpected technical failure in the ship's PA system we are unable to broadcast this message vocally. The crew of the SS Bad Wolf is doing their utmost best to fix this inconvenience._

_In the meantime please enjoy the remainder of your cruise. We issue apologies for any anxiety, fear, worry, or trauma the unexpected incidents may have caused you from the highest-ranking members of our company._

_Here to serve you,_

_The Captain._

"I must've got up before they sent them out," the Doctor muttered, returning the card.

"Hmm," Josh murmured. "Anyway, it's freaky, isn't it?"

"Couldn't someone sue?" the Doctor asked suddenly. "I mean, two passengers _died_ on the cruise ship. Someone's gotta sue."

"Oh, did you skip over the terms and agreements when you booked your ticket? We can't sue over matters out of the board's control."

"And stiffs count?"

"I reckon so. Anyway, shall we resume the game? You're not half-bad as a partner."

"Sure." The Doctor raised his racquet arm, but in that moment a small girl of about eight with long, dark hair ran up. She tugged insistently on Josh's arm.

"Dad," she said in childlike urgency. " _Dad_ , I need a wee."

"Oh. Just a moment, Maryann." Josh looked up apologetically at the Doctor. "Sorry. Another time, then, eh, old chap?"

The Doctor nodded curtly, watching as Josh was hauled off by his daughter. He placed the racquet back on the ping-pong table, leaving it open to any other hopeful players, and returned to his cabin, just to check.

When he opened the door a small slip of paper was lying at his feet. He bent and picked it up, skimmed it over. It was the same note Josh had shown him, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

* * *

 

He'd made no effort to make his private, second-class cabin seem like home. If he made it seem like home, that meant it would remind him of his room. If he brought his comforter and his favourite pillow, they would still smell of her, even if it had been five weeks since she'd left him. Even the picture of his Doberman, Jessie, in its expensive frame, had stayed behind on Earth.

Toby's cabin room was tiny, and maybe it was a little depressing. Certainly it was bland. But that was good; bland was good. It reminded him he'd come along on this trip to try and clear his head, pack away his troubles in his old kit bag, shove it under his bed back home to collect dust, and smile smile smile.

He'd been doing a shite job of _that_ so far.

Nine days on the ship and most of the time he'd spent skulking in his room, avoiding human interaction. The pool was out; that went without saying. Too many girls. He'd spent a bit of time around the miniature indoor golf court; it was mostly blokes in there.

Toby pulled his pillow over his face. God, he couldn't believe he'd been such a bloody _idiot_. He'd gone sprinting out of the church, still in his tux, calling out her name like a five-year-old, sure she was just late. She was always late to things; she'd been late to every lecture they'd had together in uni, back before they'd started going steady.

But – but nothing.

Two nights after the wedding that wasn't, he'd gone over to the pub, ordered himself a few too many tequilas. There'd been a girl there at the pub, still in uni, mucking about with her mates. They'd had a nice one-night stand, quick and easy, and then afterwards, he'd gotten the ticket half-price off a friend who felt sorry for him.

Toby rolled over, kicking at his duvet. Finally, he gave up and sat up. There was a bar open 24/7 on Deck N; they did a decent pint.

Not even caring that he was in his jimjams, Toby threw on a dressing gown and stuck his key card and access pass into his pocket. He yanked on some socks and exited the room. The door swung shut behind him, _click_ ed as it locked automatically.

The passageway was poorly lit this time of night. It was darker than he would have liked. Still, he could see the light of the _Exit_ sign on ahead, a flickering red. By the dim light of the passageway he followed the beacon.

It struck Toby that it was cold, and he wrapped his dressing down closer round himself. But it seemed to him that no matter how much he walked, the exit doorway never got any closer. Toby was tired. He walked and walked, but how much further could the exit be? Maybe fifteen strides.

He started counting. _Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight_ …

Still fifteen strides away.

The lights flickered, and went out. Toby froze.

But then they turned back on again, grim and dim though they were, and when they turned back on there was a woman at the end of the corridor. She had her back to Toby, and she was taller than he was.

Long dark hair fell to her back. She was wearing a short white nightdress that revealed her figure, and her legs, slim but with noticeable curves. He felt her saying his name then, though he got the vague impression she had not spoken aloud. "Toby." She breathed it out, in his head, alluringly, as if it was just the two of them in some strange but beautiful place.

"Hello?" Toby called out, although his knees were shaking, because now the chill was crawling up his back, seeping through the pores of his skin into his bones, enveloping him in its cruel embrace. He shivered. "Sorry, who are you?"

"I'm sorry about what happened to you." She turned her head sideways, but he couldn't see the woman's face. "That was so wrong. So very, very wrong. But… if you like… " She turned to face him now, but she was cast all in shadow. She held a hand out to him. "I make it up to you, on her behalf."

It was so cold. But somehow in her voice there was a promise of warmth, and he made for it like a fish to a worm. The woman laughed gently, then began to walk away down the corridor. He did not question her. She was leading him somewhere, she must be.

But an inkling of reason nagged at him. There were cloths dangling in front of his eyes, gleaming but raggedy, and he batted them aside. "Wait," he called out. "Where are we going? Who are you?"

She laughed, pushing open the door leading to the stairs. She held it open for him. "I will love you," she said gently. "That's what you want. Isn't it?"

"But who are you?" Tony asked.

"I will love you."

"But – "

" _I will love you_."

Toby faltered. She would, wouldn't she? She would love him, and he would love her back. They would share a bed tonight, and their hearts would beat in unison and their chests would heave as one. They would kiss and never have to stop, and draw breath and lust from each other's lungs.

She was standing there, waiting, by the door.

He joined her.

She led him down the stairs, her feet (which were bare) scarcely making a sound against the concrete floor. When they reached the lowest deck, Deck D, she beckoned with the crook of the finger, and they exited the stairwell.

"Are we going to your cabin?" Toby asked, following her down the passageway.

She paused, and turned her head just so, but still he saw no face. "No. I have a better place. Follow me."

So they continued down the passageway, and then they arrived at another exit. Toby could see a bit through the little window in the door; behind it was another stairwell. But this was the lowest deck, he knew that from the welcome pamphlet. Below them were the engine rooms.

"Down there?" Toby asked sceptically. His reason flickered to life again, briefly, and it told him that you needed a special access card to enter the engine stairwell.

"Follow me," the woman replied, in the tone normally reserved for scolding small children. Then she pulled open the door, and he followed her, all the way down the stairs to Deck A. At the landing, she led him, always just ahead, down the passageway.

The little flame of reason in his heart sputtered, coughed, and died.

It was dark; so dark, she was barely a silhouette in the poor lighting.

He wanted to hold her hand.

He could scarce make out the watertight hatch door at the end of the passageway. The engine room. He called out to her a time or two, as he followed her, but she never answered, never faltered in her footsteps. She seemed… sure of herself.

She stopped at the hatch door, and she turned, but it was too dark to see her face. Toby hurried to catch up to her. Like a schoolboy, he stopped just in front of her, grinning idiotically.

"There's something down here," she said to him, calmly.

"Something you want to show me?"

She faced away from him again, and turned the wheel twice. The door creaked open. Light seeped into the passageway. Behind the door, Toby could see great structures of metal crawling up the concrete walls.

The woman entered the room. "Follow me," she crooned.

So he did – a sharp right, and then she stopped. He could sort of feel his head aching.

"Where are we going?" he wanted to know – no, _needed_ to know.

The woman didn't answer. She rotated, slowly, on the spot, and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

He screamed then. It was the last thing he would ever remember doing.

Her face. It was all wrong.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (IMPORTANT!) This chapter is being posted along with Chapter 5, which, as you will see, is extremely short. Furthermore, it just works far better on its own than as just a part of one great big chapter. So don't forget to read the next one! A review on both would also be nice. Maybe the energy of review power will even be enough to restart the PA system of the SS Bad Wolf, but don't quote me on that.
> 
> I also apologise for the late update. But uni has been going on, which actually means I have a decent excuse for once. To make up for it though, this chapter is long af; it comes with another little one to follow it; and there's some timey-wimey stuff in here that took some time to write.

Chapter 4

* * *

 

Rose and the Doctor didn't see each other until breakfast the next day. She greeted him with a smile; he with a solemn nod. He still didn't feel like talking, much. They sat together, watching the other passengers strutting about the dining hall and serving themselves.

"Sleep all right?" Rose asked haltingly, once they'd sat down.

"Didn't."

"Oh." She nodded slowly, suddenly finding her coffee cake intensely fascinating. An awkward silence fell between them, and the air was soon swollen with it.

"Did you know there seems to be a security breach?" the Doctor blurted out, and her head snapped up.

"Hey?"

He passed her the note, which sure enough he'd found on the floor of his room, just under the door. Rose took it, frowning, bowing her head to read the text there, mumbling something about having "tossed the bit of paper she'd found." He watched as her eyes widened, her brow creased, and finally as she gave a sceptical look. Eventually Rose passed it back to him.

"Security breach," she agreed resolutely. "I mean, _an unexpected failure in ship's PA system_?" She frowned then. "But why bother sending out notes at all? From what I can tell everyone's pretty happy to muck about and forget anything weird ever happened. Y'know, forget anyone died. Pool was proper packed yesterday."

"They're losing control," said the Doctor shortly, shoving eggs into his mouth. "They don't know what to do. They're just trying to keep everyone calm and happy. The benign pleasures of the rich; the ultimate drug. The risk of everyone panicking is huge. Lawsuits would be… complicated. The passengers don't even know if they can file lawsuits, mind, but still it's complicated."

A shrill scream and a clatter emitted from the hall. Rose's head shot up, her eyes widening in the alarm. "What was that?"

"Nothin' good," he replied, getting to his feet. "Coming?" He reached out one hand to her across the table, and she took it. Together they sprinted out into the passageway to the sight of one of the laundry-maids, her hands clasped over her mouth. At her feet lay two things – a spilled tray of eggs, and one body, lying spread-eagled on the ground.

Rose clapped her hands over her own mouth.

"What should I do?" the frightened laundry-maid whimpered. "Do I…?"

"Everything under control, is it?" the Doctor muttered. He marched forward towards the nearby Emergency Station and slammed his finger down on the button. An alarm bell began to ring dully from the speaker. Then he turned and grasped Rose by the hand. "Come on. Let's go."

She looked incredulously between him and the young man's body, and he pulled her close, muttering in her ear, "I've been asking too many questions, they reckon. Best we clear off, come back to ask questions. It'll be the same old thing either way."

"But – "

"We'll get kicked out anyway. C'mon, let's head over 'n' figure things out behind the scenes."

She hesitated, then nodded. She cast an apologetic look to the laundry-maid before hurrying to follow him towards the stairwell. Already she could hear the clamour of staff rushing to the scene. "I'm sorry, we just, we dunno what to do – " she called out to the girl as the Doctor ushered her into the stairwell and the heavy door began to close.

The moment they had descended a few flights of stairs and were well out of earshot of the commotion upstairs, Rose rounded on him. "The hell was that about?"

He put his hands up in surrender. "Listen, I told you. We're best off goin' behind-the-scenes. You're good at talkin' to people, yeah? I've been on these kinds of ships before. They see us ask too many questions, they arrest us. Is that what you want?"

Rose was annoyed. "We've been arrested loads of times."

"Yeah, but – " He took her by the shoulders. He could not tell her that he wanted to keep her out of the direct line of fire. Keeping Rose out of danger while travelling was a proper laugh, of course, but still – there were such things as precautions. That was not to say he did not want her helping out at all, but there were dangers and risks he could still protect her from. "But people are dyin' right and left, the crew's losin' control, and if we don't act fast, it could get worse. And being arrested is just gonna hinder us."

Rose sighed, looking upwards. She shut her eyes. He had a point. This also annoyed her. "Fine. Let's go talk in your room." She turned on her heel and began to trot down the stairs. When he lingered, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a teasing grin. "Come on, then."

A grim set to his features, he followed.

They said nothing until they reached the Doctor's cabin. The last time Rose had been in here, night before last, it had been empty and bland; had resembled a room inhabited by any passenger who didn't care for personalisation. Looking about the small space now, there was no doubt anyone could have occupied it but the Time Lord. The desk was scattered in papers, including what appeared to be blueprints of some kind, presumably for the _Bad Wolf._ On the unmade bed sat a funny-looking metal device that reminded Rose of those trick metal rings you got at joke shops; a balled-up jumper; and a banana peel.

Rose raised an eyebrow, gingerly picking up the banana peel and dropping it into the bin just across the room. He did not look particularly embarrassed by this, shoving the twisting metal device to the side, and sitting on the edge of the bed. Rose settled down cross-legged and picked up one of the blueprints. "Blimey, someone's been busy."

He leaned over, tapping at a heavily labelled section near the bottom of the blueprint. "First goal is to find the core of the problem. Where's it all originating from? If functions are shuttin' down, where would they start? Who's got control?"

"Er, the engine room?"

"Or the Captain's cabin."

"Oh!" She looked up excitedly. "You don't reckon… you think he's shut down the PA system on purpose?"

"Don't see why not," he shrugged. "It's always the ones on top." He tapped the blueprint again. "Captain's cabin is just off Deck D. It's on the same level, but it's sectioned off. They got pretty tight security 'round there, but you know that from when I went the other day. I never guessed it'd be the Captain until I got the PA memo, though."

"Huh." Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "And… " She pointed at the metal device. "What's that?"

"Oh, this?" He picked it up and held it between his hands. "Brought it over from the TARDIS. It's meant to pick up on energy signatures, find out where they're pulsating the strongest. It's not working too well at the moment, though; been shut away too long. But with a bit o' jiggery-pokery… " He tossed the device in the air, caught it, and set it back down.

Rose grinned at him. "Hang on, 'where energy signatures are pulsating strongest?' Wouldn't that just be the engine room?"

His eyes widened and he broke into an excited grin. "Oh, right! Of course. Rose Tyler, you are a _genius_!"

She beamed. "Intuition."

The excited grin twisted into a smirk. "There's other kinds of energy signatures besides the ones what emit from engines, Rose."

"Oh." He didn't reply right away, and Rose simply smiled to herself and picked up another blueprint. He'd scribbled over the blueprint in his own language, so much so that the blueprint itself was all but impossible to read. She found herself smiling wider. She didn't imagine they'd ever have to go through an adventure without some kind of risk. This was what they lived for; lived and breathed. And it followed them everywhere.

A thought struck her then. "Hang on." She put the blueprint down and laced her fingers together, leaning forwards in the chair. "Why is it that no matter where we go, it seems like there's some kind of alien attack? I mean, aliens are attackin' people right and left all through history. We're always there to stop it. Just seems like we'd have to miss a few, yeah?"

"I'm nine hundred years old," he reminded her. "I've had a while to save the Earth. And all the other planets, really, but you lot get invaded an awful lot. And I have plenty of time to go on saving the world. Think of it this way. Say next month, we head over to the, I dunno, War of 1812, and stop an alien invasion. We haven't experienced it yet. But we're still gonna stop it. Vis a vis your timeline, to the people of Earth in 2005, the War of 1812, and therefore that alien invasion, already happened. We've already stopped it, even though the you and I right now _haven't_ stopped it. Once you sign up to be a time traveller, it doesn't matter if you end up settling down after a while. You still, effectively, exist outside the mostly linear timelines of the people around you. Understand?"

"I think so. But wait – what you're saying is… I effectively exist outside of time?"

"Sort of, yeah. That is, time is no longer relevant to you. Soon as you set foot in the TARDIS."

Rose nodded. "So that means… long as we travel to my past – or what _was_ my past, I guess – we don't have anything to worry about? We'll stop it for sure cos we already did?"

"Not exactly. Remember how I was saying once, that the whole world revolves around me?"

She nodded again. They'd talked about it the first time they'd met properly.

"Well, I meant it. It sort of does. Every choice I make has an impact on time. There aren't many other time travellers out there. Think of it this way. Time has a strict course that needs to be followed, yeah? Messin' with it, _altering_ it, causes all kinds of problems. Usually people don't need to worry about that sort of thing cos they're following time along a linear path. But if you travel through time, you've been inside the vortex. You understand and _experience_ time as something that's in flux, which it is. You understand that there's possibility, and differences. Your own timeline starts goin' all over the place. And it has a past, in its own right.

"Okay. So. You had coffee cake this morning. You experienced it, and that's that. You can go back half an hour and do something else at that exact same second. Meaning that while the Rose Tyler of half an hour ago's having her coffee cake, the older Rose Tyler could be off at the pool at that exact same moment. You can do that, but you can't buck over and stop the Rose of half an hour ago from having the coffee cake.

"Now, say tomorrow you have toast. Say that possibility is already floating around in the vortex. It's in your timeline, and maybe it affects someone else's choice. Say they think the toast looks real nice and they have some too. The Rose Tyler of right now can change her mind and stop the Rose Tyler of tomorrow from having toast by deciding to have eggs instead. You can do that, because vis a vis your own timeline you haven't done that yet. Sends out small ripples in the vortex, but no harm done. Time is always moving and changing, flowing like a river. The Rose Tyler who had coffee cake is like… a stone, stuck at the bottom of the river. You can't go back and move her without polluting the water. But the Rose Tyler who's gonna have toast tomorrow is still just floating around, and you can do whatever you like with her. As for the person who decides to have toast, too, well, maybe they decide they don't want toast either. But that doesn't matter, because it's not a fixed point yet.

"Same goes for me. If I died, right now, we wouldn't be able to go back and stop the alien invasion during the War of 1812. We won't have been able to stop it. Then, time… changes. All of a sudden aliens took over the Earth in 1812 because I wasn't there to stop it. I'm a time traveller, and there aren't many of us out there. The same rules applies to you, to some degree. Time, the fate of time, is dependent on my existence – er, yours too." He paused. "Does that make sense?"

Rose blinked. "I think I'd better have the toast tomorrow," she said. "Just in case."

He grinned. "There's the idea."

Rose pushed her tongue out between her teeth thoughtfully. "So you want us to go and talk to Maria some more?"

"Er. No." He stood up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. " _You're_ gonna talk to Maria, if you know her already. _I'm_ gonna head over and have me a little word with the Captain." He began to make for the door.

Rose shot to her feet, grabbing his elbow and frowning. "Hang on. Correct if I'm wrong, Doctor, but didn't you _just_ say we ought to keep our heads down? What was it you said? Stay behind-the-scenes? Blimey, that don't strike me as behind-the-scenes. Sounds more like downstage and centre, spotlight 'n' all."

"Well." He sighed. "I'm already on some sort o' blacklist, me. And it pays off."

"Blacklist? That's ridiculous. They haven't got a _blacklist_."

"You know what I mean," he replied stoutly. "I'll see you for tea." He shook her off and made for the door again.

"Hang on." At her words he turned. She was regarding him with stern annoyance. "Don't do anything too stupid, yeah?"

He grinned, briefly. "Not _too_ stupid, nah." And then he was gone.

* * *

 

Deck D was quiet as the Doctor wandered down the passageway towards the Captain's quarters. The small staff passageway, too, was empty, but the door was flanked this time by two security guards. The Doctor didn't recognise either of them. Good. It was good to start with a blank slate.

"'Scuse me," he said, adopting a jovial tone. "Was hopin' to speak to the Captain?"

The first guard looked at the other. "Not exactly a drop-in-for-a-chat-and-a-cuppa sort of position, sir," she said apologetically, shrugging her shoulders. "You realise we're talking about the Captain of our ship?"

"He's a busy bloke," her partner added.

"Really? Not that I understood. Look, I just want to ask him a few questions… "

The first guard looked hesitantly over at the second again. "Er. I dunno about that, mister. We can guess what – I mean… We might get in trouble… "

The Doctor flipped out his psychic paper. "Member of the board."

"Oh!" The male guard looked terrified. "Oh, _shite_. I mean – oh, _shite_ … we're proper sorry… We know passengers can speak to the Captain, but, with all what's been goin' on, you know... "

He waved a hand. "'S fine. Can I speak to him, please?"

The male guard rapped on the door to the cabin, resulting in a vague grunt from the other side, and pushed it open. The Doctor smiled, nodding politely before passing through.

The Captain's quarters were smaller than the Doctor expected. They consisted of a very large and elaborate control panel facing the large window. Another section of wall was covered in monitor screens displaying feedback from the various cameras placed on the outside of the ship. In front of the control panel were two large swivel chairs, one of which was occupied by the Captain. A cot was stuffed into one corner, along with a small bedside table on which sat an electric kettle, a box of tea bags, and various small packaged snacks. There wasn't even a lav.

The Captain himself was a burly fellow, square-jawed and sturdy. He offered his own friendly smile at the Doctor. "Morning, sir. Er, please, sit down. Now. What can I do for you?"

"Just wanted a wee chat about what's been goin' on."

The Captain's expression darkened as he glanced out the window, then studied the Doctor. "Right. Well, it's a proper mess, I can tell you that. Wouldn't be a problem if they hadn't outlawed CCTV. But I can assure you, sir, we're trying to understand what's going on. Once we figure out a cause of death for those poor passengers, then we can move on to trying to understand."

"People."

"Sorry?"

"Those poor people. A maintenance manager was killed too."

The Captain nodded once. "Yes, he was." He did not elaborate further.

The Doctor looked about. "Not very roomy in here. I thought they'd give the Captain of the bloody ship a suite."

A bitter snort. "Please. I'm just an employee with a convenient license in flying spacecraft, not a member of your precious board." He eyed the Doctor with suspicion. "Must not be very high up yourself if you don't even know what the provisions for staff are."

There was little point in lying. The Doctor would not be able to pull off the stint of being a member of the board for very long, and he wanted to get to the core of the problem as quickly as possible, not beat around the bush pretending to be a member of the humans' stupid board. "Tell you the truth," he said, "I'm not with the board."

"You're not… sorry?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what's going on," the Doctor said calmly. "I can help."

The Captain glared at him. "You're just a passenger!" he accused.

"Sure, but a useful one. I'm not your – regular tourist. Now, if you could give me any insight… please… "

The Captain shut his eyes. "We don't know _anything_. I'm sorry." And the Doctor knew it to be true. "Please. Could you just… would you mind leaving?"

The Doctor hesitated, then nodded. He left the room without another word.

* * *

 

She had, personally, expected further outbreaks of panic upon the discovery of another body, but people carried on about their daily activities and rites as usual. She'd initially assumed the crew had managed to hush everything up before any passengers even wandered by, but that assumption was crushed upon overhearing a crowd of people talking about the "latest body."

She ran into the Doctor while exploring the ship; as it turned out his visit to the Captain's cabin had been a failure. All he'd gotten out of their meeting was the fact that he could cross the Captain off their list of suspects. He'd been in a dour mood about it, too, so she'd bullied him into a few rounds of ping-pong before he'd headed off to the TARDIS to tend to whatever it was he planned on doing; something to do with his energy signature machine. Rose decided to look for Maria.

She found the laundry-maid while wandering about Deck M, one deck below the site of the latest body discovery. Maria was passing by and Rose approached her with a friendly smile. "Hiya."

"Oh – hello." Maria seemed idly, pleasantly surprised. "Just lingering about?"

"Yeah. Not doin' much of anything, really. Just thinking."

"I'm on break right now," the laundry maid burst out. "I have an hour and a half. I was just going to wander back to the cabin, really." She paused. "I was hoping to find you and talk to you, actually… "

"Do they let you round at the pub?" Rose nodded her head over to the deck's pub a ways down the passageway. "They do this brilliant hot chocolate."

"Oh." Maria looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, they do, but… oh, staff don't go there, you know. People would stare. It would be strange, Mi – Rose."

"You're with me," Rose insisted, looping her arm through the other girl's. "C'mon. Hot chocolate and a bite. We can chat about whatever you wanted to talk about." She looked at her meaningfully, and after a clearly apprehensive, uncomfortable pause, Maria nodded her assent. "Aye. Let's go, then." She smiled, shyly, and the two walked arm-in-arm into the pub.

The bartender today was a London chap; friendly without being overly warm. He eyed Maria, still clad in her maid's garb, as she leaned over by the bar alongside Rose, but said nothing. The passengers in the bar were staring, too. "Ignore 'em," Rose insisted. "Let's take a corner table. Probably a good idea anyway." Maria nodded again.

They ordered hot chocolates and tinned fruit, and settled into the most secluded corner they could find. "So," said Rose conversationally as she cupped her hands around the mug, relishing as ever the way the rich, steaming drink seeped into her fingers through the ceramic and warmed her to the core. "I'm guessin' you wanted to talk to me about… something you found."

"In a way." Maria looked down. "I haven't got much. Really I wanted to talk to you about… helping you." A beat. "I told you I'd help you out where I could. Well, I've changed my mind."

Rose's face fell. She opened her mouth to say something, but Maria cut her smoothly off. "I want to help in every way I can. The rest of the staff are just as frightened as the passengers, as frightened as me. There aren't any high-ranking board members on the ship to tell us what to do, just a supervisor or two to make sure we're doing our jobs." She swallowed. "We all know how much trouble we're in when we get back. When it comes to us, little people like us, they don't care either way. We'll all be sacked, you wouldn't need a genius to tell you that. Letting a thing like this happen, it'll be our fault, even if it was them that tore down the security measures the ship needs. None of us know what to do." She shook her head and took a sip of hot chocolate; then when she looked up, her expression was grim and frank. "I'm frightened, Rose. You and your boyfriend seem to have a better understanding of what to do even than our supervisors. I'm frightened, so what else can I do but help you?"

A small, thankful smile flickered over Rose's face. "Seriously?" Maria nodded, and Rose's grin widened. "Blimey. I, I can't tell you how much that means to us, Maria. That's brilliant. And – brave of you, proper brave." She frowned slightly as she registered the Irish girl's last words. "The Doctor ain't my boyfriend, though, we're just – well, speak of the devil."

The Doctor swung into the bar and spotted them easily, ambling over and pulling over a chair. He dropped into it heavily and clasped his hands together, looking down.

"Doctor," Rose said pointedly. "You remember Maria, yeah?"

His gaze flickered up and he seemed to remember himself, straightening. He held out one hand and gave a friendly smile. "Nice to see you again."

Maria took it. "Likewise."

Rose was eyeing the Time Lord carefully. She'd long since lost track of how long she'd been travelling with him; but she knew it had been at least a couple months. Long enough to know him all too well. There was kindness in his smile, in his eyes; that was doubtless. He'd told her long ago that he was experienced at picking people out, who was good and who was not. He would be kind to the people who deserved it, and even then only when it suited him, when he had the patience. But there was, lingering in the depths of those steely blue eyes, a slight apprehension that Rose knew only she could see. He was judging her, he supposed. He was wondering how much she knew, how much he could trust her.

The handshake ended, two hands dropped to the table again. Maria's smaller one took her fork and she prodded at her fruit. An awkwardness lingered in the air, one Rose hurried to put an end to. "Maria's gonna be helping us out," she said. "With the – " she shrugged – "case, I guess you could call it. She's been real nice. She says she'll do whatever she can."

He looked between the two young women. "That a fact?" He hesitated. "I appreciate it. Thank you." A curt nod, then he turned to Rose. "Sorry – could I speak to you a tick?"

Rose looked from the Doctor to Maria, mouthed _sorry_ and followed him out to the passageway.

"How much does she know?" was the first thing he asked.

"Hardly anything. Told her we work at that station, or whatever it was you said to get us onto this ship. She thinks we're just scientists or whatever."

"Yeah. Well. I have access to information no-one should. I'll dig things up no-one in this _century_ should be able to understand or know about. She wants to help and that's fantastic. Good of her. But how's she gonna react when I start jabbering on about civilised alien races, huh? You lot haven't even got proof of primitive life forms out there yet, let alone a thorough understanding of advanced ones."

"You don't trust her?"

He looked at her meaningfully. "Do you?"

Rose nodded with certainty. "Yeah. I do."

He bowed his head. "All right, then. Then I agree. We tell her everything."

That comment took her aback somewhat. "Wait, seriously? Aliens, time travel and all?"

"Everything. You trust someone, then so do I." He nodded to the pub. "Let's not keep her waiting. Rude." Rose nodded her assent, following him. They returned to the corner table, where Maria was waiting and nursing her drink. She looked up at them with one brow arched as they settled down.

The Doctor, being the Doctor, did not beat about the bush. He looked at her gravely. "So you want to help us. Then there's some stuff you need to know first."

She arched her brow again. "All right. You're not about to tell me the both of you are working with the murderer, are you?"

"Rose and me are gonna be pretty busy with the job. We're… experienced in the field. And we'll be able to come up with stuff, knowledge and information you shouldn't be able to understand. Beyond human knowledge." The bartender, spotting the Doctor, began to approach their table. The Doctor waved him away.

"And you're an incredible genius, then, I imagine."

"Well, I am, yeah, actually. But that's besides the point. I am not human, though Rose is. I'm a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey. I'm a time traveller. I am nine hundred years old and I know more than any human will ever know."

Maria blinked, then settled back. She nodded. "Very well."

He looked almost disappointed. "That's it? 'Very well?'"

She smiled. "My mam always told me stories of the faeries when I was a wee. I never really stopped believing in them. And there have been three murders on this ship; week-old bodies showing up with no signs of decay. A couple of passengers have been kind to me, and treated me like one of them. I can believe quite a lot."

"So you'll help?"

Maria laughed. "You. Of course I will."

"Then thank you." He held out his hand one more time. "Hope you enjoy the ride. Cos lemme warn you, it's quite a ride."

"I'm ready."

And just like that, they settled into a casual, friendly conversation, consisting largely of Rose making fun of the Doctor and both women laughing at him.

" … and he's all, 'ooh look I've got a screwdriver; it has a glowey blue thing on the end and it's like a plot device; it can do anything!"

"Oi. It's _sonic_."

"Keep telling yourself that," Rose shot back.

In response, he reached over and grabbed the last maraschino cherry from her fruit, popping into his mouth. He smacked his lips exaggeratedly. Rose's mouth dropped open and she slapped the guilty hand. "Oi! Those are the best part!"

He wrinkled his nose. "Not as good as the proper, fresh stuff anyway."

"You dirty tosser!" She turned her attention to her hot chocolate. "Least I still got… " A hand reached over, snagging the last mini marshmallow from the top. Rose spun on its owner just as Maria popped the marshmallow into her mouth. " _You –_!" she exclaimed, laughing.

Maria smirked, revealing her empty cup. "I'd say you could have one of mine, and yet… "

"You're _both_ awful!"

And they laughed, the three of them together, freely and openly, as if they would never have to stop.

* * *

 

Maryann tiptoed out into the passageway. She didn't really like going to the lav on her own, especially at night, but her mummy and daddy had been sleeping soundly and last night they'd gotten cross with her for waking them. They said that she could take herself to the lav now that she was nine and a big girl.

The corridors – no, passageways; that's what you called them on ships – were ill-lit and too quiet at night. She curled her small hands into fists and she began to walk resolutely along. She had to stop being silly; had to stop acting like a baby. She was nine, not five, after all. If she weren't such a baby the other children at school would finally stop teasing her; they teased her for a reason, after all. She might even make some friends if people started to like her. There was a nice idea.

The floor was very cold against her bare feet that _slap-slap-slap_ ped against the concrete. She tried to walk a little quicker. Then, suddenly, the lights flickered out. Maryann froze. She screwed her eyes shut tight. She wanted to go back to her cabin. Lavs could be scary. The girls' toilet on the second floor of her school was haunted; there was a ghost who would kill you by cutting your throat if you went inside the stall they haunted. Lots of toilets were haunted. She would just turn on her heel and run back to find her cabin and wake her mummy or daddy. Or she'd hold it in.

No, no, she had to wake mummy and daddy; she _really_ needed a wee.

Maryann turned and took a few steps, feeling her way in the dark with her little heart pounding quickly inside her chest. She heard a creaking noise like a door opening coming from in front of her, but it was too dark to see and she gasped. But no…ghosts snuck up on you from behind.

The lights flickered on. They were even dimmer than before but at least she could see. There was a little girl standing in front of Maryann. Her face was cast in shadow from the poor lights. She looked to be about Maryann's age, and she had long dark hair just like her. She was wearing a long white nightie like girls in books.

"Hello," said the other little girl.

"Hello," said Maryann. She cocked her head. She hadn't known there were other children on the ship; let alone on her cabin. "I'm Maryann."

"Are you going to the lav?" the other girl asked. Her voice sounded kind of funny, Maryann realised. It was very quiet and whispery. She thought little of it; maybe the girl was just shy.

"Yes. I need a wee and my parents are making me go on my own. It's the other way." She started to turn.

"Oh, it's in your best interest to go to another one."

"Which one?" Maryann wanted to know.

The little girl turned and to walk away from her. "I'll show you. This way."

Maryann trotted to keep up. "The one by the lower dining hall? That one's the nicest." There was no answer, but she kept following. A little girl just like her, probably her exact same age. Maybe they could be playmates. This little girl might want to be her friend. That would be nice.

There came a groaning, creaking sound. It sounded as if the very bones of the ship were crawling up the walls to let loose all the ghosts that had settled there. Maryann froze, gasped. "What was that?"

"Just a noise." The other child's voice was vague and dismissive.

"What noise?"

"Just a noise," she said again. They had reached a stairwell. But not the stairs that led up to the higher decks. Those were the other way. This was the stairwell that led down to the lower decks; Maryann knew that. The engine room was down there; it was off-limits to passengers and probably dark and spooky.

"We're not allowed down there," Maryann informed the girl, helpfully. "Our access cards don't even let us."

In response, the door was opened. Maryann was impressed, but also apprehensive. "I don't think we ought to go down to the engine room," she called out to the other little girl, who was already beginning to make her way downstairs.

The other little girl stopped without turning. "You… don't want to come with me?"

"We might get in trouble."

"Come on." The other child's voice was a sweet whisper. "We could play together down there."

"In the engine room? Now?"

"We could be friends. This way… it'll be fun."

 _We could be friends. Friends_. It sounded like a promise to Maryann. _We could be friends_. The words she had sought out her whole sort life but had not yet been able to grasp and have for her own. Friendship belonged to children in books and in cartoons, but now she might have her share.

The idea that her parents might be cross flickered through her mind but she batted it away. What did they care, anyway? Here was a girl who wanted to be her friend, and she would follow her even into the spookiest corners of the engine room. Besides, this girl was brave, braver than Maryann. She would protect her. They would protect each other because that was what friends did.

"All right," Maryann agreed. "What will we play?" She began to trot down the stairs after the girl. She was upset when there was no answer, but still, she trusted the other child. She was going to be her friend, after all, and Maryann would play anything she wanted her to.

Down into the lower decks they went. The passageway was so ill-lit Maryann could scarcely see a thing. The other child was little more than a silhouette, a whisper of a shadow, walking determinedly forward. Maryann wondered how she could see. She groped out in the darkness. She took all her previous thoughts back. No, _nothing_ was worth being killed by a scary ghost. "It's dark down here. Can't we play somewhere else? Where are we going?"

"Shhhh." The other girl stopped, and even in the darkness Maryann could see they had come to one of those big watertight doors. It must lead to the engine room, she thought.

The door was a crack open, as if it had been waiting for them, and Maryann followed her. There were tall structures all around them, storeys high, great hunks of metal crawling with rust.

The other little girl beckoned her deeper, and deeper, into the complex of the engine room. "Come on," she coaxed. "This way… "


	6. Chapter 5: INTERLUDE

* * *

Chapter 5:  
INTERLUDE

…

She lay still on the concrete floor, and they gathered around her as they consumed her.

She was already dead.

They didn't always feed once their victims were dead, but humans were different. They lacked what other species had. Still, they had the potential to be rich and tasty, and if they could not find their favoured meals they would settle for humans.

Their favoured meals were all gone now, along with the golden days.

The human was small, and young, and not altogether very filling. This was not why they were upset. She had been tasty – not as tasty as the one that had come before her, but tasty all the same. This was not why they were upset. She was simply not amongst the most suitable candidates that had been selected. Her contribution was almost non-existent.

They had finished feeding, and the process was in action. In the darkness, the owner of the low, guttural voice spoke. The tone was harsh and angry. " _You are foolish. Your youth reveals itself. If you do not act quickly we will miss our chance._ "

The higher voice then. Its owner was huddled beneath their contraption. " _You are unhappy. Would you dispose of me?_ "

" _Perhaps I must._ "

" _Then it is your who are the fool. You know of my talents. Without me you would be in an unhappier place. I bring a taste of the golden days. You would be unwise to dispose of that. Already I grow stronger, my art more developed. I can enter now. I can go inside now, fully and completely._ "

From the others, crooning. They were pleased. They praised. They praised blindly. " _The golden days! The golden days will be back!_ "

" _They are gone, as you well know._ " The guttural voice. " _But if you can indeed go inside now, new golden times are within finger's reach. We place our faith in you_."

" _As you should_ ," replied the owner of the higher voice. " _We can only move forward. This is the path; I shall carve it. This is the doorway; I shall build it. This is the way; I shall lead us to the other side._ "

The other creatures crooned in celebration. The sounds of their collective joy crawled and slithered up the hulking masses of the engines, entwining with the layers of peeling paint and raw rust without apparent end.

 


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

* * *

 

"Another tequila?" The bartender shrugged. "Your liver, mate."

In reply, Stephen hummed contemplatively and reached for the bowl of salted peanuts while the bartender prepared him the eighth tequila of the night. This was what his life had been for the past days.

"Another."

"Mister – " the bartender said warily.

"Please. One more."

The bartender shook his head, casting Stephen a look as he went to pour another drink. Then he returned to the bar counter. "Sorry, mate. We're all out. I could head down to Deck M if you want, but I'll be a few minutes."

"Hmm. Sure."

Stephen picked up a cocktail stick from the small cup on the counter, twirling it absently between his fingers as the bartender went out. He wondered, idly, what would happen upon his return to Earth. Probably very little, he thought bitterly. Though he reckoned his father would be pleased. Whenever he'd spoken of his mother, Stephen's grandmother, he'd comment on how amazing it was she'd kept herself in such good shape at her age. "I mean, you'd think – " Stephen's father's voice rang in the back of his mind – "that she'd at least be sick by now, wouldn't you? At her age they haven't usually got many years left. Poor things."

He never had gotten on with his parents, and he supposed his father hadn't gotten on with his own either. Not his mother at any rate. Which was, naturally, the very reason Stephen and his grandmother had been so very close.

She'd been plain and uninspired, and took pleasure in nothing more or less than soap dramas and the occasional airport novel. She'd had nearly a million pounds to her name and yet, to the profound puzzlement of her parents, hardly ever spent it. She had cooked for him often as a child, and cooked well, but this had been out of necessity and not so much for the joy of cooking. Out of necessity and out of love. For she'd been a warm woman, his grandmother had, and Stephen had felt closer to her than anyone in his life.

And sometimes, on the rare magical occasion, she would tell him stories about the stars.

Maybe she'd been reminiscing of the days she'd been a girl.

She'd come down with a bout of pneumonia the previous winter, which had been more than enough to cause Stephen a great deal of worry, even after she'd recovered. Using the money he'd saved up for his full four years of study Cambridge, which had sat unspent in his bank account ever since he'd dropped out after first year, he'd purchased himself and Gran tickets on the _SS Bad Wolf_.

And then she'd…

Ninety. That had been her age.

His father would be pleased, yes.

Jesus. How long did it take to bring up the ingredients for a nice tequila?

From the hallway, movement. Oh, bloody finally.

But after another several agonising minutes dragged by and nobody entered the bar, Stephen stood up, irritated. He could see that _somebody_ was there – part of a clearly human shadow was cast against the doorway – but the person made no move to enter.

It was four in the bloody morning; Stephen doubted anyone was going to be up for a pint, so he got to his feet and poked his head out the door.

She had his back to him, but somehow he could sense her smiling. "I'm here," she said. "I've something to show you. This way… "

Her words washed over Stephen, gentle and loving. He felt warmed, his mind was cradled. He was a boy just fallen off his bike, and she was the sweet brush of lips against his scraped and bloodied knee.

"This way… "

He was confused, but somehow all felt right. All felt well and right in the world.

She began to walk, and he followed her. He followed her down to the engine room.

The stars were outside, so very close. If you reached, you could probably touch them, capture them, grasp them between your fingers. There, they would tremble and flicker. You could grasp them between your fingers. You could crush them to dust, if you wanted.

The stars were close.

…

"So you're on a luxury cruise ship driftin' across the Milky Way galaxy, beautiful views on all sides, and your first instinct is to go for a swim."

"You didn't have nothin' to say the last time I went," Rose complained. They were on the TARDIS again. The Doctor had his back to her, fiddling with his little energy-signature reading device, sonicking it from various angles as coils of tangled wire wrapped around it, hooked up to the console.

"Yeah, but that was while you were digging. This is your time for a wee break, seein' as nothing's comin' up at the moment and you won't be able to help me repair this old thing. Just thought you might want to sit in the viewing gallery for a bit and admire the local sights, y'know?"

"Well, yeah. But I'm with you. I can get stars any old time." Rose leaned forward in the jump chair. "I was hopin' to go to a planet again next. Those are always my favourites."

"You can go for a swim any old time too. May I remind you the TARDIS has its own larger-than-Olympic-sized swimming pool?"

"Yeah, but the one on the TARDIS ain't got a three levels of diving boards."

"'Course it does!" he sounded affronted. "She just needs to know 's what you want!"

Rose shrugged, tucking her legs in underneath her. "Okay. But there's no company on the TARDIS. You never wanna come swimming with me."

"That's because I don't… "

"Don't be stupid; I know you know how."

" – do that sort of thing for pleasure."

"Aw, c'mon." Rose grinned at him devilishly, tongue slipping out between her teeth as she waggled her eyebrows. "You're comin' in with me next time. Bet you look proper nice in swimming trunks."

The Doctor didn't answer, and she smirked, leaning back with her arms crossed over her chest. She opened her mouth to utter a smooth comeback when suddenly his face split into one of his token manic grins and he spun around. "Oi! Look at this; I fixed it!"

Rose's eyed widened as she shot to her feet. "Hang on; seriously?"

"Probably!" He untangled the coils of wire from the device, tossing them aside as he held the strange thing in front of him with both hands. His eyes shone with excitement. "Blimey. I never reckoned I'd get it done so soon."

She took the reader from him and turned it around in her arms. "Well, I'll leave it up to you to operate it. But forget swimming, let's see what you can do!"

"Now we're talking."

He gave the TARDIS' doorway a fond stroke as they exited it, and made their way through the car park into the main ship. They chatted idly as they made their way up the stairs to Deck M for lunch, when suddenly the Doctor stopped dead.

"Something's wrong."

Rose frowned at him. "What?"

He shook his head, tapping the energy reader. "Not sure. But… " They had reached the Deck M landing. Upon pushing the doors open, what was wrong became very apparent.

A large crowd had gathered. It remained dead-still, seemingly in shock. There was not even a whisper. Rose and the Doctor couldn't see much from where they stood, just an arm, splayed out across the floor. Another body.

The Doctor began to push forward, but gently. The crowd shuffled silently out of his way. When he had a clear view, he stopped dead, breath catching in his chest. There were three people in the centre of the crowd. Two of them were dead.

The Doctor recognised one of the figures – it was the little girl who had pulled Josh off to take her to the loo the other day. Maryann, he remembered. Josh had called her Maryann. When still, without the aura of life surrounding her, she seemed smaller than ever. Her eyes were shut and her lips were just slightly parted. Mockingly, she could have been sleeping. The child's body was cradled in Josh's arms, being rocked back and forth. Just behind them stood a woman softly sobbing who must have been his wife.

Josh had his nose buried in his daughter's long, dark hair. Rhythmically, he rocked her. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He did not howl with grief. He did not make a sound. His eyes were open and dry. There was a dull, numb look in their depths. It cast a similar shadow over the features of his face. He was not dead, but he almost looked it. It was an expression the Doctor had caught on his own face sometimes.

A hand on his shoulder. Rose had joined him. She said nothing, but her face went pale as her gaze fell on the child's body. Then her eyes passed over to the other body; a young man that the Doctor's gaze had skirted over. Rose's hand on his shoulder tightened.

"Doctor. Doctor, isn't that… "

He recognised the young man then. It was Stephen Griffiths, the grandson of the old woman whose body had been found a few days ago. His eyes, unlike the little girl's, remained open and empty.

The Doctor hated it when people died with their eyes open.

He nodded once in response to Rose's question.

A maintenance manager arrived, accompanied by a man in a professional-looking outfit the Doctor could only assume was one of the board's supervisors. They exchanged a look, the two men, but made no move to act. Like the other passengers, they just stood there and stared.

Funny what sights could spawn such a togetherness as this.

When he looked at Rose again, her eyes were trained on Josh, holding his daughter's body. She frowned, and briefly her gaze flicked up to the Doctor. "He deserves some privacy," she said softly.

The Doctor nodded once, then, without another word, he turned to go. Rose followed him. When they reached the doors to the stairwell, the other passengers began to shuffle out as well.

In the end, it was just Josh and his wife and their dead daughter, alone in the passageway. Stephen's body lay a ways off to the side, still and with no-one to claim it.

* * *

 

The Doctor was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his cabin, energy reader in his hands. Rose was lying on her stomach on his bed, watching him.

Neither had said much for the past two hours.

It was Rose who broke the silence. "So, how do we use that thing?"

He turned to look at her, craning his neck up. "'s complicated."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks."

"Oi," the Doctor suddenly said, "did I mention we have a definite energy source now?"

Her head snapped up. "Hey?"

"Energy source. Got the signals working, they've picked up on where the energy signatures are emitting strongest. 'S the engine room."

"Oh! Oh! Well, _someone_ was right 'bout that then, then, weren't they?"

He ignored this. "And, y'know, if there was ever any doubt, we know for sure our little alien friends are a psychic race."

"Seriously?" Rose joined him on the floor, studying the device. "Uh. How can you tell?"

He tossed it in the air and caught it neatly. "Sorry, didn't I mention? Device is only really useful to other psychics. Namely Time Lords."

"Oh."

"And… " his brow furrowed, and he trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"Nothin'," he muttered, shaking his head. "Right. What do you reckon we head off and find Maria?"

She nodded. "Good idea, probably. D'you reckon she's got anything?"

"Could be. Or not."

She shot him a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means let's go find out." He stood, grabbing Rose's hand and pulling her to her feet. Rose smiled widely in reply, and off they headed.

They were in the middle of debating where they were most likely to find the laundry-maid, and whether or not they should split up to locate her sooner, when suddenly Rose pointed to one of the on-deck call stations. The Doctor did not seem the least bit embarrassed by not having noticed or thought of this himself; he strode over to the button and slammed one finger down on it efficiently.

Maria hurried onto the scene a couple of minutes later, bearing a large laundry basket. When she saw that the passageway's only occupants were Rose and the Doctor, she gave a relieved little smile; her shoulders seemed to relax and she set the laundry basket down. "I was _hoping_ I'd run into you both," she said. It was then Rose noted the look in her eyes – desperation, and fear, but also – a flicker of excitement. The same kind of excitement she had seen many times in the Doctor's steely blue eyes, the kind of excitement she knew shone in her own. Sometimes, she saw it there, catching her reflection in a mirror or a bit of broken glass.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her, and Maria nodded almost wildly. He paused, contemplating her, then jerked his head in the direction of the deck's viewing gallery. "Should have some privacy in there today. Quiet. Sound doesn't reach the rooms."

The laundry-maid nodded once, and following the Doctor's lead, she went into the viewing gallery, Rose just behind. When the doors slid shut behind them, Maria's face glazed over in a dreamier expression as she caught sight of the stars. She stared at them for a very long time before breaking out of her trance. "All right. Er, the staff and crew are… panicking."

Rose settled onto one of the armchairs, crossing her legs. Maria sat across from her and the Doctor leaned against an armrest. "Because of the dead kid?" he asked. His tone was grave.

Maria shook her head. "No… it's upsetting, but, it's not the most worrisome matter at the moment. First off, did I mention the other bodies haven't decayed? It's been days now. The old woman, Mrs Griffiths, died over a week ago. And second of all – " she swallowed – "more and more servers have gone offline."

The Doctor crossed his arms, leaning forward. Rose wrinkled her brow. "Offline? How d'you mean, offline? Like the PA system, you mean? Which servers?"

"Well. The ones that control the ship. Meaning, the Captain can no longer – " she swallowed again, shuffling in her seat – "the Captain can no longer steer the ship. It doesn't respond to his commands."

"You mean we're gonna crash?"

"No, Miss – Rose, I mean, sorry. Force of habit… it's more like the ship has gotten a mind of its own."

Silence fell, soon it had wrapped itself tightly around the room. You could hear a pin drop. At last, the Doctor said in a low voice that pierced the quiet, "When did you notice?"

"This morning. A little before the bodies turned up."

"Any idea where it's headed now? Veering off in another direction?"

Maria shook her head. "It's still following the same course it was meant to – slowly veering back around to Earth. The ship travels in a slow ellipse." She drew a lopsided ovular shape in the air with her finger.

He nodded, then pushed off from the armrest, arms crossed. He began to pace the room. "The man who died today, or whose body turned up, actually. He was the grandson of the first woman who died. Reckon it means anything?"

Maria lifted a shoulder. She looked sheepish. "I don't know."

He spun on his heel, now facing the stars. He spoke with his back to them, a solemn silhouette made up of harsh, dark edges. "You got a log of passenger information?"

Maria nodded. "Passengers had to fill out information forms with purchase, and when they boarded, too. You know, for people who bought their friends or children or parents gifts or something. They aren't overly detailed, though. Marital status, career, family members, living situation, hometown… that's about it."

"I'll be needin' those."

Maria nodded. She bit her lip and shuffled. "Doctor, what about the ship? We don't know if it will even come back to Earth now – the crew are _panicking_. The Emergency Aid signals have gone offline, too. We can't beam out for help, we're _alone_. The controls are _useless_. We can't even find the source of the problem."

"I'll have to go over the blueprints of the ship again."

She gaped at him. "You've got blueprints of the ship? From where?"

"Accessed 'em from my ship."

"Your… ship?"

"Well, yeah, we parked it in the vehicle lot. Landed and then came over onto the passenger area."

Maria stared, and Rose grinned at her. "Don't worry, we didn't crash and blast a hole in the ship or anythin'. Ours can just kinda – materialise. And it ain't exactly – well it's sort of small. Dependin' on how you look at it." When Maria's confusion showed no signs of vanishing, Rose laughed softly. "Probably easier if we just … show you." She looked up at the Doctor questioningly.

The Time Lord gave an indifferent shrug, finally turning from the stars. "Bit overwhelming, mind."

Maria smiled. "I like overwhelming."

* * *

 

Maria had not taken the TARDIS as well as she had the information regarding the Doctor. She'd stumbled backwards out the doors with her mouth wide open and her eyes wider, tripping over the long skirt of her maid's garb. She'd sat there on the ground, staring in awe, then gotten to her feet and run around the TARDIS' outside shell as Rose had done, so long ago, before stumbling into the ship and dropping onto the jump chair, breathing hard.

All this had happened twelve minutes ago. It had taken her five minutes and forty-five seconds to recover. The past three minutes had been spent admiring the TARDIS, who had taken to her very well. The Doctor took this as a good sign; the old girl hadn't been over fond of Adam. Over the course of the remaining minutes, the Doctor had brought up and printed out a new, especially large blueprint of the _SS Bad Wolf._

Now, the Doctor spread the blueprint out across a workbench pulled out from under the console and tapped the screwdriver against one of the ship's lower decks. "This," he said. "This is where the energy signatures are emitting strongest, yeah? The waves are branching off into the upper decks of the ship, ones occupied by passengers mostly. God knows whatever these creatures are doing to the people, but 's clear they're interested in the people more'n anything."

"Interested in the people except for the fact they've taken over the ship," Rose replied.

The Doctor tapped one of the residential decks on the blueprint with the screwdriver. "Why not do that right off, then?"

"Get everyone scared?"

He shook his head. "Could be. Reckon there's more to it than that, though." He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and clearly wrote a character in his own language. "This is the Gallifreyan character for _curiosity_ , or _interest_. Just general curiosity, as its own entity; words for _curious_ as an adjective and _curiosity in something_ are a bit different. And this – " he drew another character now, on the bottom half of the paper – "is the Gallifreyan word for _person_."

The two characters were remarkably similar, as far as Rose could tell. They were also interlocked, intricate rings and circles sharing space.

"They're nearly the same," Maria said with interest. "Like they co-exist."

He nodded, pointing the sonic screwdriver in her direction. "To my people, they d – they did. If you don't care about the human aspect – or personal aspect – you can't really care about anythin'. If it's personal, it piques your interest. It gives you a drive to learn, and discover.

"Maybe they needed something from the people here, needed to know something about them, before they could take over the ship. The takeover's been slow. I mean, it could be they're trying to do it slowly so the crew wouldn't notice, but…. " The Doctor traced out the outline of the Gallifreyan character with the end of his screwdriver. "There wouldn't be much point. Crew tends to notice when they lose total control of the ship. Got to be more to it than that. This is a highly psychic race we're talking about here. Those tend to be advanced."

Maria had taken the paper on which the Doctor had written, studying it intently. "This is the language your – people write in? It's beautiful."

"I guess it was," he said shortly, taking the paper back. "You take it for granted if you're used to it, though. But… yeah. It was."

Maria frowned momentarily but said nothing, now turning her attention to the blueprint. "So this creature, or creatures, they've been _forcing_ people to go down to the engine room with 'em?"

The Doctor had his eyes fixed on his energy device. "Could be." Then, in a lower voice, "or lured them."

"Pardon?"

"Lured them. As in – "

"'Come into my parlour,' said the spider to the fly," Maria murmured.

The Doctor's head snapped up. "From the poem. Very good."

"Makes you wonder what they do to lure people," said Rose contemplatively.

The Doctor nodded, then turned his attention back to the blueprint, beckoning the women to gather closer around him. "Look here." With his pen he drew a circle around the engine decks. "Sounds like they've established their base down there. It's logical, clever. People don't wander down to the central engine room unless absolutely necessary. Not even maintenance managers. Most problems they can fix just at the deck level without having to enter the main room. It's automated, see?" He now traced a line from the engine room up to the Captain's cabin. Then his brow creased as he leaned into the blueprint. "Hold on. What's this?"

He was pointing to some lines on the blueprint that appeared between the crew's quarters and the hull of the ship.

"That's where the Captain's cabin is attached," explained Maria.

He frowned. "Attached?"

"Oh, yes – don't you see?" She pointed. "It was added on. This isn't the _Bad Wolf_ 's first voyage; she's done a couple of trips before. When they made the ship available to third-class passengers they needed to add third-class cabins. So they converted the crew's residence on Deck D, created a wireless signal between the engine room and the Captain's cabin, and then extended Deck E to add more third-class cabins, like so. It's what gives the ship its unusual shape." She tapped on Deck E. On closer inspection, the Doctor and Rose saw that the deck did, indeed, have an entire portion that had been added on separately. "It's detachable, too."

The Doctor spun on her. "Hold on, _detachable_?"

"Oh, yes," Maria nodded vigorously. "Same as the parking lot." She pointed to the car park – or vehicle park, Rose supposed –where the TARDIS was located. "The _Bad Wolf_ has an entire added lot. The idea was that in the case of an emergency, say, a miscalculation in how much fuel would be needed, we'd simply be able to get rid of the add-ons so the ship could carry itself to the nearest station to refuel without the extra bulk and then go safely back to Earth. All very unlikely, of course… The crew's quarters are added on nice and secure, though."

"You mean just obliterate and kill a load of passengers?" The Doctor sounded angry, now. Things did not go well when the Doctor was angry.

"No, of course not. They'd evacuate first." Maria seemed mortified.

His shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. He turned his attention back to the blueprint. "Look. It's upsetting. Anyway. The energy signatures can travel up and reach any of the decks. They've been takin' over the ship bit by bit and now they have full control. You said the ship hasn't veered off course?"

Maria, who still looked a little frightened, shook her head. The Doctor grunted. "Well, let's go. Some stuff we should do too. I want to run a scan on Deck E."

He had been leaning against the workbench, now he pushed off of it so violently the workbench slid back under the console and the blueprint fluttered to the ground. One end of the paper became trapped between the console and the workbench, leaving it to hang limply. He stalked down the ramp and pushed open the TARDIS doors. "Let's go."

"Doctor!" Rose cast Maria an apologetic look. She ran to catch up to him, grabbing his elbow. "What's up?"

He glowered. "Oh, nothin' much. Aside from the fact a near deck of innocent passengers is at risk. And the rest of the ship, mind, crew and all. We're in over our heads."

"But Doctor, you don't know what those alien things are, do you?"

He shook his head. "'s too early to say. Where's Maria? I want to pay a visit to the engine room, by the way."

"Wait, what?"

He ignored her. Maria emerged from the TARDIS, looking wary. The Doctor nodded to her, then spun on his heel and began to walk briskly away. The laundry-maid shut the doors and looked after him meekly.

"He's in a mood," Rose explained.

"No, he's right," Maria insisted. "None of use like the idea of having detachable portions of the ship, either. Passengers on Deck E are at the highest risk in case of emergency. He's right to be angry. And you shouldn't apologise for him, either," she added.

Rose shrugged. "Believe me, I don't usually."

"But – " Maria's eyes widened – "is this your life, then, Rose? Running about and stopping aliens and saving people?"

"Yeah," Rose grinned. "Yeah, pretty much."

"It must be wonderful."

"Oh, it is, God, it is." Rose leaned against one of the vehicles and tossed her head back. "'s the most wonderful thing in the world." She paused. "You should come with us, Maria."

" _Me_?"

"Yeah." Rose nodded earnestly. "It'll be brilliant. You'd love it. Besides. Three's company."

"I believe it goes, _two_ is company. _Three_ is a crowd," Maria frowned.

"Rule One of life with the Doctor: change the rules," Rose winked. "Actually, that's Rule Seven, but… you get my point."

Maria was smiling broadly. "What _is_ Rule One, then?"

Rose waggled her eyebrows. "Come with us 'n' find out."

"Oi!" the Doctor, who had stalked off, suddenly emerged again. "Haven't got all day. We've got a deck to inspect and an engine room to investigate." Rose and Maria exchanged a look, burst out laughing, then hurried after him.

"Do you seriously want to investigate the engine room?" Rose pressed.

A curt nod. "Important."

"It might be dangerous!" He raised his eyebrows at her, and Rose gave him a look. "You know what I meant. Not 'til we know more about whatever's down there."

He shrugged. "We'll see." He turned on his heel then, and stalked out of the room. After a moment, they heard his call, harsh Northern tones echoing off the walls. "You comin', or are you just gonna stand there waiting me to do dangerous business on my own?"

Rose rolled her eyes as Maria smirked, and the two began to follow the Doctor in the direction of Deck E. "Sorry. Did I mention he's also stupid?"

* * *

 

They lingered behind the Doctor as he operated his ridiculous machine. They had been standing there for a solid twenty minutes, by the clock. Maria was technically on duty, but no-one seemed especially disposed towards bothering the maids.

"Is something meant to happen?" Maria frowned.

Rose shrugged.

"I'm finding nothin' yet," the Doctor called over his shoulder. "Might help a tick if I could get some quiet, though."

A great groaning sound, of the sort old houses make when unobserved, but this one was high and filled with the screeching tones of metal. Three heads craned upwards simultaneously. "What was that?"

The sound came again, and Rose ran a hand along the wall of the passageway. Light vibrations. It sounded as if the very bowels of the ship were coming alive to let loose all their ghosts.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Maria murmured.

"'s what people usually say before the asteroid hits." The Doctor's voice was low.

"Is that a metaphor?"

"Sometimes."

Again – a high, drawn-out groan.

Several passengers started to poke their heads from their cabin doors, looking around. The Doctor began to walk backwards towards the women. His face went very pale. Rose poked him. "Doctor?" she whispered.

A beat. Then, he waved an arm. "All right, evacuation, everyone! Follow me!"

People exchanged frightened, confused looks.

"Just come on with me," the Doctor called out. "The ship's at a bit of a risk, this is just standard procedure. Head on up to Decks M and N." Though he wore no uniform, the passengers listened to him. They began to hurry from their cabins. Mothers and fathers scooped up the occasional confused child and couples clasped each other's hands.

At that same moment, Alfie the maintenance manager burst in, shouldering past the throng of frightened passengers and rooting himself in the middle of the passageway. "You again! What's goin' on? I was gonna call an evacuation. We're facin' an emergency situation – "

"Beat you to it, mate." The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder.

Alfie looked instantly suspicious. "You knew… "

"There's a risk this section of the ship's about to be destroyed," the Doctor said in a light tone. "Now this is lovely and all, but care to have this little chat somewhere else?"

The maintenance manager looked flustered but he nodded. The deck was mostly cleared out. Alfie turned on his heel and stumbled upstairs. The Doctor and Rose followed.

The passengers were herded to the dining hall of Deck M. Most of the other passengers were being shepherded into the upper decks, too, distributed more or less evenly in the rooms. Once the vast majority of passengers had gathered in the room, Alfie ambled purposefully over to the Doctor.

"The hell is this about then, mate?"

"The reason I detected the risk," said the Doctor impatiently, "is that, if you recall, I'm an employee of one of the local space stations. I've got some equipment. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned on his heel and stalked off into the pub, dropping into a chair.

Rose hurried to meet up with him. "He's just scared," she chided him.

"Yeah? Well, I haven't got the patience for scared people right now."

The ship groaned again. The screech of metal on metal. The passengers cried out, clinging to each other. The Captain stood up on a table and began to explain the situation, how the crew were doing "all they could." The Doctor and Rose didn't listen.

"Is everything going to be all right?" Maria asked weakly.

"'course it will," Rose assured her. "The Doctor will fix it, he always does."

"We don't know that," the Doctor spoke up. "Does yesterday's chat ring a bell? Our travels could go wrong at any point."

The screeching became more prominent, intermingling now with dull clunks.

Rose shot him a look, but Maria seemed neither especially cheered or disturbed by this.

Turbulence began to rock the ship. Glasses and plates piled up by the door fell to the floor with a mighty crash, their shards scattering across the floor. Alfie tumbled backwards off the table on which he stood. A couple of passengers surged forward to catch him and set him on his feet.

The sounds became louder still. The ship rocked violently, lurching forwards like an underground car coming to a stop.

And then – nothing.

Silence.

All was still.

The lights flickered back on.

The passengers waited with bated breath.

Alfie's walkie- talkie-like device bleeped and crackled. He shouldered his way through the crowd out into the passageway and shut the door.

The Doctor stood up.

No-one said a word, no-one moved.

Time stretched out.

Finally, after a thousand years, Alfie returned. He stood shakily atop the table and cleared his throat. "Folks," he said. His voice seemed too loud in the silence of the room. "I'm sorry that we the crew bring you all bad news. We don't believe anyone was hurt or killed, but… as many of you know, the _SS Bad Wolf_ 's vehicle park was built as an extension to the ship and separate from the main structure. Isolated, see." He gulped. "We're sorry to bring you the news it's been destroyed."

A hush fell over the crowd. The passengers stood there, numb and staring. Rose, who had taken to breathing hard, looked over at the Doctor, but his expression said nothing. His features were set and solemn.

_The vehicle park has been destroyed._

_The vehicle park. Destroyed._

And then it dawned on her.

"Doctor," Rose said in a small voice. "Doctor, the vehicle park."

He turned his head to look at her.

"Doctor," she continued, "isn't that where we parked the TARDIS?"

It hit him then. The expression that passed through his face was beyond anything Rose had ever seen play across those features. It started off with shock, then a cocktail of emotion – fear and confusion and grimness and all of it was rounded off by a shot of grief so pungent it hurt to look at.

He sank back into his chair, his expression playing out one last card – emptiness. He looked like a shell, and said nothing.


	8. Chapter 7

It took nearly an hour for things to settle. The crew were in just as much shock as the passengers, after all. But, eventually, the supervisors leapt into action. The _SS Bad Wolf_ could no longer afford to go on allowing passengers to carry about their daily activities, pretending as though nothing was amiss. Five people had been killed. An entire section of the ship had been demolished. The ship itself was not yet responding to the crew's commands. Things had become serious; emergency action was called for.

Passengers were to return to their cabins and stay there until further notice. Meals would be delivered to cabin doors twice a day. Staff would be available to respond to passengers' needs. The supervisors would also being doing interview rounds over the course of the next coupe of days. After this announcement was made, the passengers were shepherded down to their cabins.

The entire time, the Doctor did not properly respond, not even to Rose's murmured attempts at consolation. He shuffled downstairs with the other passengers and shut himself up in his cabin.

Rose dared to knock at his door two hours later, slipping out of her own cabin and rapping against the wood hesitantly. "Doctor?" she called softly. "Please can I come in?"

There was no answer and she bit her lip. She tried the doorknob. It turned all the way, so she pushed the door open.

Rose hadn't been sure what to expect. Part of her had expected him to be pouring over the blueprints in a fit of quasi-rage, hell bent on getting to the bottom of the murders once and for all. The other, more sensible half had expected his cabin to be a mess; had expected him to look a sobbing wreck. It wouldn't be the first time.

Instead, he had hardly changed. He was sat on the floor with his knees raised up to his chest and his arms hanging limply over them. It looked as if he had been aiming for the bed and had missed, but hadn't bothered to pull himself back up. He stared vaguely downwards, but his eyes did not seem to be seeing anything. He looked dead. Dead and hollow as a drum.

Rose faltered in the doorway a moment, then slid the door neatly shut and sat down next to him. She reached out a hand and, after a moment's frightened pause, laid it on his shoulder.

He reacted instantly, like a viper, one hand shooting up to grab hers. Rose startled but kept her hand there, even as he gripped it so tightly it felt as if he were about to break the bones in her hand.

"You okay?" she whispered after a moment's pause.

He snorted. "What do you think?"

_Right. Stupid question_. "You don't know the TARDIS is gone," she said softly. "Maybe she managed to dematerialise at the last second."

The Doctor gave a dry, humourless laugh, but he finally turned to look at her. "Ah, Rose Tyler. Always trying to keep her chin up, eh? You're lucky. 'M not very good at the whole hope thing. Funny," he added, "you'd think I'd be used to losing things by now. But still. There's always been her, no matter what, for eight hundred years. Last little bit o' my planet I had left. Home."

She looked down. She wasn't sure if he was referring to the TARDIS or his planet as his home. "Still… you don't _know_."

"Guess I don't." He let go of her hand and flexed his fingers, then pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. She looked up at him. "I can't get you home without her. You will be stuck, here, for the rest of your life. No way to go back to your family."

"Yeah," said Rose. "Yeah, I know. But 'm good at the hope thing." A beat. "So what you gonna do now?"

He blinked. "What 'm I gonna do about… ?"

"The aliens. Whatever they are. TARDIS or no, we've gotta stop 'em, yeah? You and me. Savin' the worlds, 'til the very end."

"Oh." He paused, nodded. And then it was like a switch had gone off. A lever pulled to bring him back to life. He shot to his feet. There it was, that manic energy, and while Rose knew he was running off it to stay alive, that the broken man who had been sitting next to her mere seconds ago still lurked just under his skin, it was a relief to see the Doctor she was accustomed to.

"We're not to go out of the cabin rooms, they said. Sod that, don't you reckon?"

"Sod that," she agreed, grinning, now pulling herself up to sit on his bed. "You still got material here. Got the sonic 'n' the psychic paper. Got that weird squiggly whatsit of yours."

"Energy reading device."

"Keep telling yourself that. So what do we do? Maria's on duty, all the staff are, but if we run into her – "

He waved this off as irrelevant. Suddenly a new expression took over his features, his eyes ablaze with something Rose had never seen before. "I've got to go down there. Face 'em…. " With a new surge of energy, he grabbed his sonic and the psychic paper, stuffing them into the inner pocket of his leather jacket.

"What?!" Rose stared at him with incredulity. "Doctor, don't be stupid, you can't – we don't even know what those things _are_ yet; and it's dangerous. Aren't you always the one tellin' me to stop thinking on my feet, stop wanderin' off, to use my head?"

"What? Why not? Might be fun. The deep and lovely dark." He laughed shortly. "Who could resist, Rose?"

"Doctor – "

"Rose." He grabbed her by the wrist as she tried to reach out to him, probably a little harder than he'd intended. "Rose, listen. I'm gonna go down there, and you won't be stoppin' me. So if you care about anythin', then listen to me, and wait here."

She bit her lip, still hesitant. "But what if you don't come back?"

She waited for him to say, _What, got no faith in me, Rose Tyler?_

She waited for him to say, _'Course I will, you know me_.

Instead he looked at her long and hard. His grasp slid from her wrist down to her hand, which he gripped tightly, one thumb stroking the smooth skin. Then his other one came up, so that her hand was completely clasped in both of his. He did not smile, just locked eyes with her for a long moment before letting go and turning on his heel.

He walked straight out of the cabin. He did not turn back, and Rose did not try to stop him.

…

The passageways were quite deserted as he made his way down to the engine room. Frankly he'd been expecting them to be patrolled by staff members, but perhaps he'd just gotten lucky.

He exited the main stairwell at Deck D, then had to detour through the passageway to access the stairway leading down to the lower decks. He scanned his passenger card at the door. Just for laughs.

Access denied, of course. He pulled his sonic screwdriver out from his inner pocket, aiming it at the access card panel. Sparks erupted there, and there was a satisfactory little _click_ as the door opened. He pushed.

There was a chill, almost, as he stepped into the stairway, the door closing behind him. It was almost completely dark. The low hum of engines filled the space – white noise – and the air tasted like pennies.

He closed his fist tightly around the handle of the sonic and extended it, holding it at his side as he began to make his way down the three flights of stairs, his every footstep echoing off the coarse concrete.

He waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

He reached the Deck A landing – last stop. He pulled the door open.

The lowermost deck of the ship was so ill-lit he could barely see a thing. Still, the Doctor marched steadily forward, his free hand held out ever so slightly in front of him. He could just make out the shapes of balconies above, looking down from the two decks over him. He did not, however, feel like he was being watched from those balconies. The creatures he was about to face did not need to watch him.

Somewhere in the corners of his mind he could feel a slight tug, a swelling, the kind of feeling one got from the presence of other psychics. Somewhere, he sensed something whispering – _He has arrived._

There was a watertight hatch at the end of this grim passageway. It was open. He was expected.

The Doctor slipped through, into a dizzying brightness.

The main engine room wasn't really all that well-lit, but coming from the darkness as he just had, he found himself blinking like a mole. When his eyes adjusted a moment later, he silently took in his surroundings: hulking masses of engines towering over him, overbearing. Their metal bodies had gone dull and dark with rust, and they had been scratched deep, wounded in places.

He began to edge deeper into the room.

Around him, whispering – no, not quite whispering. Just the presence of.. voices. They were low and hushed, many voices layered and woven together. They pressed against the edges of his mind, brushed against it.

The old stories, it turned out, were true – the Doctor had never encountered one of these creatures before, but he had read of them and heard the tales of old. A great many Time Lords had confronted these creatures in the past, and had told of their experiences.

It seemed all of them had had a way with words.

As he progressed deeper and deeper into the room, the Doctor now saw that more and more of the engines had been defaced. In places, entire chunks of metal had been torn out entirely, the gaps patched up with thin metal panels from which long tubes and wires emitted.

"Doctor."

The voice spoke his language. It was high, soft, and childlike, and so very, very sweet.

He spun, his twin hearts picking up a more rapid beat.

A small giggle. "You have arrived. I knew you would come, though my kin began to doubt you."

He searched the shadows. He sensed movement, but nothing more.

"But I always had the faith they lacked, Doctor. I do hope you're proud of me. I waited, and my expectations were answered."

And then he saw her.

She had a small, slight frame and skinny little arms and legs. Her pale pink nightie fell loosely to her ankles, a bit too large for her small body. Her long dark hair reached her waist and a few stray locks fell into her face. It was bone-white and cracked with fissures that spiderwebbed across her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, as if across a vase; and her eyes were like empty chasms. It was a terrible face, and yet it had a kind of innocence about it, something remarkably childlike, and that was the worst thing about it.

She smiled at him then, blinking her empty eyes, and revealed her teeth, triple rows of tiny, razor-sharp fangs. There were a couple of tooth gaps.

"I know what you are," said the Doctor quietly. He tilted his head and ran his fingers, almost contemplatively, along the rusty metal device the creatures had built. "Reckon I've known it for a while."

"Yes?"

"You're the Dyrfain. Must admit you're the first one o' your people I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. Seein' as you're the one what's come out to speak to me, I'd reckon you're the leader. Or what's left of the leaders, anyway. I heard most of the noble families got wiped out."

The Dyrfain creature smiled wider. "And of our purpose?"

"That," he said, folding his hands behind his back, "I know a mite less about. Care to enlighten me?"

Her smile widened, the Cheshire cat who'd gotten the mouse. "Poor Doctor. You must miss your home."

His head snapped up as he glared at her. "No. You don't speak to me about that. I asked you what you wanted. Courtesy to answer."

The Dyrfain took a step closer to him, head cocked to one side. "Impatient, aren't you, Doctor?" She paused. "We miss your home too."

He felt his muscles tense, hands curling into fists. The creature – he would not think of her as a child, he told himself resolutely – seemed to notice this. "It was our home, too, Doctor. You know it. We had settled there thousands of years before the Time War. Your people never quite managed to get rid of us, did they?" She sighed. "You know we had the upper hand."

She began, slowly, to circle the Doctor, making him feel suddenly light-headed. "Yeah. Well." He shook his head, recovering. "They never managed to get rid of cockroaches on Earth, either."

"Oh, I suppose not. But I'm surprised at you, Doctor, really. Resorting to petty insults so early. The Dyrfain have always been aware we were catalogued as a parasite race in the records of old. We hardly minded. We were also aware, after all, that we were more powerful than the Time Lords, in our own way. More powerful as psychics and as a telepath race, certainly.

"I don't suppose you ever bothered to study our history, but you should know we were always wanted far less on our native planet. We can't all be the ruling race, after all. We liked Gallifrey. We were sorry when it was gone. My people called the time we spent there the golden times."

He felt his hands curl into fists again. "Sure, you were sorry. Sorry you wouldn't – _consume_ another one of my people. And let me take a guess. Now you want to take over Earth."

" _Take over_ Earth?" she laughed softly. " _Take over_ Earth? Oh, Doctor, I sense a Time Lord who's spent far too much time dreaming. We hardly want to _take over_ or _conquer_ the Earth. We only want to settle there, the same way we settled on Gallifrey. Share it. We're very few, we wouldn't take up much space. The humans wouldn't even notice we were there."

"So go on living like rats in the sewers, you mean?"

She pouted. "Even the sewers offer a tasty meal. And rats are resourceful little creatures. You know what we did on Gallifrey, how we lived. We intend to continue living in a similar manner on Earth."

"By killing those people? By killing a child?"

"Temper, temper," the creature chided. "Silly Doctor. That's hardly fair. You know well why we took those humans' lives. The war left us with almost nothing. _Nothing_. You would be surprised how few of my people survived. We needed the energy to seize the ship and rebuild some of our old power, enough to start rebuilding our old kingdom. Just a fraction of what we had. It's hardly a lot to ask. We've collected the amount of human essence necessary. We still need quite a bit more energy now, but... We have no desire to take more humans than we need." She paused and smiled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

"And so you need a Time Lord essence," the Doctor said shortly, after a long pause.

"Very good. Yes. We miss your taste."

He snorted. "Aren't you supposed to say that like it's a threat?"

She ignored him. "So, Doctor. You do mean to let us make a happy home on Earth, don't you? It would be so much easier for everybody. No need for a war. And with a title like that, I thought you'd have prided yourself in being a peacemaker."

He stiffened. "No. No. That's not me. Not anymore."

Another smile. This one had a gentle wisdom to it, the kind of smile you only ever saw on an especially perceptive child. It made the cracks on her face blend into her skin, somehow. "Yes," she whispered, her words a lullaby. "Yes, I know." And she held out her hand. When the Doctor made no move to take it, she folded her own hands in front of her.

"Think of our joy when we felt you," she breathed. "The promise of the sweet fluid of Time Lord life bathing our tongues, the warmth that would follow once your essence had filled our stomachs and hearts. After the War we were so crushed, with our cosiest home turned to ash, and believing we would never have a Time Lord or even a mere Gallifreyan to ourselves ever again… oh, it was enough to make us weep." She cocked her head, appraising him.

"You are young," she said at last, "though years away from home have made you forget it. You shall not be altogether very filling, but how nice you'll taste! Some may disagree, but I call it a bargain."

The Doctor stared at her. One sentence stood out to him in particular, for the honesty of her statement was staggering. She was right – he _was_ young, for a Time Lord. But he didn't feel it. He'd been little more than a boy when he'd stolen his TARDIS and run off to touch the stars. Would he feel as youthful as he'd done then if he'd stayed?

The Dyrfain creature suddenly caught his attention as she began to giggle – girlishly, sweetly, horribly. "Oh, but your life _shall_ taste nice," she said. "I can sense it all rolling off you – there's so much guilt, and fear, and anger. I cannot wait to taste the anger – such self-loathing! It consumes you, Time Lord, and I shall consume it. And… " the creature paused, head cocked again. "… do I detect _lust_? Oh, you'll make a tasty meal indeed. Now I see why I took this form."

The Doctor studied her. "Who are you?" he asked at last, for he thought he understood too.

The child giggled, using a hand to cover her mouth. The Dyrfain took a step closer towards him, then began to circle him slowly, her hands folded in front of her. The dizziness fogged his thoughts again, blurred his sight. He was prepared this time – he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, clearing the haze.

"I am every child, Doctor," she said, and her voice bounced off every corner of the engine room, creating an echo. "I am every child you ever saved and failed to save. I am every laugh and scream that ever passed through young lips by your hand. I am your guilt. I am your guilt and your hopes and dreams, your moral code and self-betrayals, your victories and your defeats. I am all that you live for, given one universal form.

"I am every child. I am the lonely little boy that ran through bright red fields, laughing and calling out to the stars. I am the little girl you spun in circles underneath a burnt orange sky. I am the children you saved from horrible fates, before they were even aware that they were in danger. And I am, too, the children that burned on a battlefield, on the remains of what was once a beautiful red meadow, screaming and sobbing, while you flew away. I am every child, Doctor, and I believe that now you understand why."

The Doctor bowed his head. "Yes," he said quietly, "I reckon I do."

At some point she had gotten close enough to touch him, cradling his calloused hands in her small, smooth ones. The Doctor took a step back, wrenching his hands from her grip.

"So what shall it be, Time Lord?" she whispered, her empty eyes trained up on him.

"Oi, listen. Now, this is all very lovely, but I've wasted a lot of time. I need to get goin'. And I bloody _dare_ you to try and just stop me. We both know you don't work that way." He spun on his heel.

She folded her hands and stood still as he made his way out with brisk, pointed steps. "You can't fool us, Doctor," she called after him. "You've already come to your decision. We already know what it is."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Contains bullshit science
> 
> A point of interest: “Dyrfain” is derived from the ancient Norse word “Dýrfinna,” which means “sorcerer” or “illusionist.” Take from that what you will.

Chapter 8

* * *

 

Rose waited.

 

She twiddled her thumbs.

 

There was a game on her phone that was good for passing mindless, anxious minutes.

 

In all, she didn’t have to wait terribly long – just twenty minutes – but it felt like an eternity before Maria knocked on the door. Rose heard her call into the cabin and instantly she shot to her feet, all but tearing it open. The young laundry-maid stood there, a cart just behind her. She smiled, but it did little to soften the lines of exhaustion etched across her face.

 

“Long day?” Rose asked wryly, stepping aside.

 

Maria snorted. “Sort of.” She turned and collected two trays from the cart behind her. “Dinner, if you’re hungry at all.”

 

Rose wasn’t. “Sure.” She paused, taking the trays. “Can you come in?”

 

Maria looked hesitant at first, then she nodded. “I saved yours for the end for that reason. I don’t suppose anybody cares either way if I’m back at once. It’s a dreadful panic up there.” She slipped inside the cabin and shut the door, then dropped heavily onto the bed. There followed another pregnant pause as Maria looked about the room. Then, as if it had only just occurred to her, she said, “You’re in the Doctor’s cabin. And, ah, he’s not here.”

 

Rose shook her head, placing the dinner trays on the desk before collapsing onto the bed next to Maria. “He… he went down. Stupid bloody... ” It came out in a weak, shaky burst of breath and tears welled in her eyes.

 

“Down… where?” Maria’s voice was measured and wary.

 

Rose’s response was to punch a pillow. “Down to the engine room. To talk to the creature, or creatures, or whatever the _hell_ ’s down there. And I didn’t stop him.”

 

Maria’s shoulders sagged a little and she let her own whoosh of breath. “Oh. _Oh_. Well, I mean… ” There was an extremely long pause during which she seemed to struggle to compose herself before she asked, “How long ago?”

 

Rose glanced at her watch, then shook her head. “’bout twenty minutes ago.”

 

“So. He’s probably fine. … Probably.” Maria breathed out. “Probably.” Pause number four. “There’s tea, by the way. Well, just a teabag and hot water, but… ”

 

“Cure for everything, yeah?” Rose smiled, scrubbing at her eyes and wiping away any stray tracks of mascara. She got to her feet and removed the teacup from its holder on the tray, then got to work pouring in the tea from the teapot. “’s what my mum always said. Made it for everything, she did.” Now she freed the Doctor’s cup and poured a second serving. Abandoning the saucers, she brought both cups back over to the bed, handed one to Maria. “Used to brew a cuppa at any time when I was a kid ’n’ had a nightmare.”

 

Maria smiled softly over her teacup, only looking hesitant for a moment. “And you’d curl up on the sofa and she’d tell you stories, is that right?”

 

“Not so much stories, nah. Sometimes she’d talk to me about my dad, or even fill me in on the gossip just to make me think about somethin’ else. Raised me to be a proper estates girl.” Rose laughed. “But she wasn’t a stories kinda mum. Left that part up to me. She’d turn on the telly and we’d watch – ”

 

“ _Coronation Street_ ,” Maria finished.

 

“No. Don’t tell me they still do _Coronation Street_.”

 

“And _EastEnders._ ”

 

Rose was really laughing now. “You’re jokin’!”

 

“I’m not!” Maria was insistent. “My mam followed them all like part of her life’s rulebook, right along with the old stories and church on Sundays.” She nodded wisely, then trailed off. “I believe, following a British calendar like we do up here, _Brookside_ was meant to be on tonight. I suppose she’s watching it now. There’s this wee telly at the pub where she works, and she and all the barmaids crowd around it every night and don’t pay the customers any mind unless the manager starts skulking about. Nobody really minds; if you’re a regular you know enough not to show at the pub when _Brookside_ ’s on. If you’re new and you’re heart’s set on getting pissed, you’ll give up pretty quickly.”

 

Rose grinned. “Same here. ’cept mine don’t work.”

 

Maria smirked. “A bit different from mine, then.” She laughed again, softly, taking another sip of tea. “Mine loves stories. Really. I was raised by a book of fairy stories just as much as I was by nurture and nutrition. My dad, he likes them fine, but my mam… ” She sighed.

 

“When I was wee enough she’d sit me on her knee and tell me about the faerie folk and the leprechauns. I used to ask her if they were real, or just make-believe, and she said it was up to me, and that depended on where I looked. We grew up in this wee village, in one of those corners of Ireland that hadn’t been touched much, so there were always places to explore – this brook filled with moss-covered rocks and a little wood that knew no limits for hiding places. I loved that wood. They tore most of it up when I was thirteen. Needed to make buildings.

 

“Anyway. The first time I asked her, and she told me that, I was awfully disappointed. I didn’t see the point if they weren’t real. She actually swatted me for that.” Maria laughed. “She said that stories were their own reward, that you could lose yourself to them, and learn and discover them, and that they were everywhere. And I had to make sure stories never died. So I headed out to chase them.” She laughed again. “I suppose that’s what we’re doing now. Chasing a story. Of these… creatures, and this ship.”

 

Rose nodded contemplatively. She had opened her mouth and was about to respond when the door whipped open. The Doctor stood there. In an instant Rose shot to her feet, all but forgetting the tea she still held and only just managed to set it down on the desk before grabbing his hands.

 

“Doctor! God, my God, are you okay?! What happened?”

 

The Doctor didn’t respond right away, just gave Maria one quick nod and closed the cabin door. He pulled out the desk chair and sank down into it. Rose hovered uncertainly for a moment before sinking back down onto the bed next to Maria. “… Doctor?”

 

“I talked to ’em. Identified ’em. Reckon we know what we’re up against now.”

 

In an instant, both women’s heads snapped up. “Hang on – you – but are you okay, I mean, you never said, you – ”

 

“You plan on listenin’?”

 

Rose settled back. “Sure – sorry. ’s just… shoot.”

 

He laced his fingers together as he leaned forwards, elbows resting against his knees. He looked up at her gravely. “They’re called the Dyrfain. Advanced psychics, high-level telepaths. What us Time Lords can do? Child’s play, if that, compared to them. And they’re a… they’re what you call a parasite race. Rely on other species for survival. Not like carnivores or anythin’, I mean, technically lions reply on other beings for survival too. But these, they’re wicked cruel and cling to other beings to live. Drain their life energy from ’em.

 

“They have a home planet, technically, though they’re not the ruling race there. Sort of like you humans are the ruling race of Earth, but there’s other species on that little rock o’ yours – animals and the like. Dyrfain are similar. They don’t like being the submissive, secondary race. So most of ’em ran off and established their bases on the planets ruled by lower-level races. Lower-level as psychics, anyway.”

 

“Your planet?” Rose asked softly.

 

The Doctor nodded shortly, once. “Yes. Gallifrey was a favourite home of theirs. The Dyrfain feed off pure life essence – your lot might understand it is a soul, but it’s much more complicated than that. The longer a life, the more filling the person is. But what really counts for them is the emotions stirring around in that person. What they feel like, what their life’s like, what dictates their actions and thoughts. Some people lead boring little lives, nothin’ much happens, don’t feel much of anything, and they’re not as much of a meal. Anyway, you combine these two things together into pure life energy and that’s what the Dyrfain rely on.”

 

“To… eat,” Maria clarified.

 

“Partially. I mean, yeah, they use it to survive, but they can use it as an energy source too. You might power a car with petrol or whatever, they use the energy of their victims. How they drain one’s life essence depends on what their victim is. A psychic species is more effective if consumed alive, a non-psychic race isn’t worth the trouble of consuming alive. Anyway, that doesn’t matter… Essentially they feed on their victim, then use excess and excreted energy as a power source.”

 

“They sound awfully complex for a low-ranking species – on their home planet, I mean,” Maria mused.

 

The Doctor snorted, not quite bitterly. “Yeah, well. Space travel for you.” There was a beat, then he continued. “See, like I said, the Dyrfain established themselves on Gallifrey – my home. Fed off Time Lords and your regular Gallifreyans, made a good life for themselves. Wasn’t much my people could do about it.” He faltered. “Then came… y’know. The war.

 

“Most of the Dyrfain got wiped out. Some fled to other neighbouring planets, others figured they’d suck it up and buck on back home. Most of those got killed or executed on arrival. ’cept for a few stragglers, resourceful ones. A couple members of the noble families made it, along with a bunch of citizens.” Now he pulled his sonic out from his inner breast pocket and, using it, gestured vaguely at nothing in particular. “And this ragtag little crew, less’n fifty of them, I’d wager, they scraped a team together and settled… somewhere. Dunno where, doesn’t matter far as I can tell.

 

“Anyway, they were grieving, if you like. All teary-eyed cos their favourite nest to take over was gone. Poor saps. Then they picked up on it.”

 

“On… ?” Rose cut in pointedly. Despite everything, he was starting to enter that mode of his in which he explained things at a higher-than-normal speed and made assumptions she knew about what he was talking about. Words like “it” and “thing” tended to surface in these situations.

 

“Me.”

 

Rose raised a brow, and the Doctor had the courtesy to launch into a more reasonable explanation. “See, remember how I said once the vortex is like a river?” He shot Maria a quick glance to ensure she understood. She seemed to be following with little difficulty as Rose nodded. “Well, ’s a fairly elementary explanation but it still works all right. So picture the vortex as this river. And it’s not just flowing one way. There’s fish swimming around in there, tadpoles and frogs. Few ducks ’n’ geese, maybe a few swans. Water bugs buzzing about. There’s small disturbances all around. Now, on the riverbank – outside of the river, outside of _time_ – you get the occasional family picnic. Some kids playing. And once in a while, one of those kids toddles up to the edge of the water and drops a stone in. And that stone – ” he gestured using the sonic again – “makes ripples.”

 

The Doctor surged to his feet then. “And that – _that_ – is what the Dyrfain pick up on. My people could sense disturbances in space-time too, but only with the proper equipment. And all of that burned up.”

 

“On… a disruption in space-time?” Maria ventured.

 

The Doctor pulled a face. “Sort of. They can do it but most o’ the time it means nothing. Those fish and birds cause their share of disturbance too. But some things, like rocks, send out particular ripples, that reach out long and far. And on me. I’m the rock.”

 

Silence.

 

“They came here cos o’ me,” the Doctor explained after a very long pause. “Y’know. My fault if you like. They sensed, picked up on me, and travelled onto the ship, but they overshot rather. Ended up landing a near week before I got here. They’ve been takin’ over slowly, from the inside. Tearin’ up the engine room. ’s a real sight if you care to pop down there some day. They’re building a vessel, using what simple tools they’ve got left and the humans they’ve – collected.”

 

“That’s awful,” Maria whispered, and he snorted.

 

“You’re tellin’ me. Anyway, Rose, Maria, listen. This is the important bit. They want to establish an – well, not an empire exactly – establish themselves on Earth. Live in the shadows, feed off humans. They’d be invisible. Nobody would notice ’em. And, y’know. Repopulate. They’re dead set on it, and they’ll go right on killing humans on this ship ’til they have enough energy to settle on Earth.”

 

“And… why are they taking over the ship if the _Bad Wolf_ ’s landin’ on Earth soon anyway? This… energy-collecting stuff. Can’t they just start, ah, consumin’ people when they land there along with the rest of us?”

 

He shook his head. “They’re weak. They need to start rebuilding. And they need a vessel. To store energy, ’s like storin’ fat for the winter. They’re not sure what the conditions’ll be like on Earth. Technically the Dyrfain can adapt to anything, but they need to store energy first to pull through. Besides, taking over the ship’s like a little statement for them.” He snorted and there was no denying the bitterness behind it this time. A beat. “Make sense?”

 

“As much as it’s ever gonna make,” Rose remarked. She paused. “Hold on a tick. What about the bodies? They never decomposed.”

 

“Yes, they did, remember? They’ve started,” Maria cut in.

 

Both women turned to look at the Doctor questioningly.

 

“Oh. Yeah.” He joined them on the edge of the bed, forcing them to scoot aside a bit to make room. “That’s the nature of having your pure life essence torn out of you. It’s part of what composes your body signature, in a way – you humans wouldn’t understand yet – but the same rules applies to any sentient species. That’s a contributor, and then there’s the energy of the Dyrfain. The lower decks are full of it. Some of that energy’s bleeding up into the ship, there’s traces of it all around. But it’s centralised ’round Decks A-B-C and especially strong in the main engine room. It doesn’t stop the process of decomposition but it slows it down drastically. Now that the bodies have been removed from that area, they’ll finally start to decay.”

 

Neither Rose nor Maria responded until the Doctor looked about the cabin. “Oh, look,” he remarked in sudden merry tones. “Food. Thanks, love.” He nodded to Maria and took one tray from the desk. He removed a tinfoil cover and inspected his dinner – a lump of baked beans, overcooked potatoes, and some slices of beef.

 

“The chefs didn’t have time to cook any proper meals,” said Maria apologetically. “It comes from our storage of emergency pre-made stuff. In case something happened. Sorry.”

 

The Doctor shrugged it off, digging into the beans. “Not bad,” he remarked, smiling brightly. There was a small bottle of orange juice sitting on the tray. Tang. He unscrewed the cap, took a sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

Maria glanced at Rose in confusion. Rose just shook her head. She took a sip of her tea, though it had gone cold by now. “Doctor?”

 

“Yeah, that’s me.”

 

Rose cast Maria a quick worried glance. “So… what now?”

 

He gave her a jovial smile. It was terrifying, though Rose had come to expect it. “After supper, you mean?”

 

She shrugged. “Well… sure.”

 

The Doctor paused and seemed to give this some kind of sardonic, horrible consideration. Then he shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.” He gave Maria a sort of nod of respect. “Oi. Potatoes aren’t half-bad.”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor lay sprawled on his cabin bed, still fully clothed. It was about four in the morning. The energy device was held between his two hands, raised a bit above his chest. He twirled and turned it this way and that. Tossed it in the air and caught it lightly. A plaything.

 

His mind, however, was elsewhere. It wandered down to the lower decks, to the engine room. To linger among rust and dust and cold concrete floor, to face a nightie-clad child.

 

No, she was not a child, he reminded himself, not for the first time. Why did he have to keep remembering? That – that _thing_ , that pint-sized little beast was a Dyrfain. A parasite.

 

A clever, clever little parasite.

 

He sighed to himself, tossing the device onto his desk. He folded his hands and rested them atop his chest, his eyes fixed on the low ceiling of the room.

 

A quiet empire on Earth.

 

The Dyrfain had established their little kingdom on Gallifrey, taking Time Lords, Gallifreyans and the odd low-ranking creature as they pleased. And the Time Lords, one of the mightiest warrior races in existence, had not been able to get rid of them, cockroaches or no.

 

The vortex was like a river. He was the rock.

 

He never actually got anywhere.

 

Neither did the river, actually.

 

The Doctor sighed, and rolled out of bed. He was the Doctor, he reminded himself. He was nothing if not clever. He could, he reckoned, talk his way out of any situation. Not that he especially wanted to right now. But the child’s – the creature’s – words kept coming back to haunt him, blurred his vision. The child had reached out her – its, her, their, its, her, it didn’t matter really – hand. A smile. An offering, a way out.

 

The humans would… well, they’d be all right, he reckoned.

 

He closed his hand around his sonic, pressed its blue end to his lips. Then he slipped it into his breast pocket and opened his cabin door, stepped out into the deserted passageway.

 

There was a light flickering on and off, somewhere above him, and below, a little girl’s voice called his name.

 

“Excuse me, sir.” The Doctor stopped dead and spun on his heel at the sound of the smooth Estuary voice. A man, a supervisor judging by his attire, was striding down the passageway towards him. The supervisor reached for his breast pocket, fumbling for a banal little card that would reveal his authoritarian position, just in case the Doctor wasn’t bright enough to work it out himself. “Excuse me. Were you headed somewhere?”

 

The Doctor gave him an easy grin. “Just out for a bit o’ fresh air, me. Gets awful stuffy shut up in a little cabin room all day.”

 

The man cleared his throat, looking apprehensive. “They haven’t done the interview rounds in Deck J yet, have they, sir?”

 

Well, if they had, Rose hadn’t bothered informing him. “Don’t think so, no.”

 

“Hmm.” The man glanced at his wrist tablet. “Oh, I see. They’re scheduled for 4pm tomorrow.” He eyed the Doctor suspiciously and shuffled his feet. “Sir, I’m afraid you’re going to have to return to your cabin now. The _SS Bad Wolf_ is currently under a strict curfew. Due to the circumstances… of which I thought all passengers were made aware.”

 

“That so? A shame, that. Had my heart set on a pint.”

 

“At this hour, sir?”

 

“You’re the ones what set up a twenty-four hour bar.” The Doctor spread his hands out.

 

The supervisor cleared his throat. “If you really want a pint, sir, we could arrange to have one delivered to your cabin, but in all truthfulness – ”

 

“And if I wanna stretch my legs a bit? Go out for a bit of a walk? Cabins aren’t awfully big, you know.”

 

An edge slid into the supervisor’s voice. “Sir – ”

 

“Doctor?” A bleary-eyed Rose was shuffling out of her own cabin. “What’s goin’ on?”

 

The supervisor tensed more, if possible. “Miss, are you travelling with this passenger?”

 

“Hey? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry, he’s, uh, he’s restless at night. I mean – ” Rose reached out a hand. “Come on back in, won’t you?”

 

The Doctor’s gaze slid from the supervisor to Rose and back again. He had no chance of getting down to the engine room right now. “Right. Sorry. Have a good night, mate.” The Doctor nodded curtly and followed Rose into her cabin.

 

She kicked off her slippers and dropped back onto her bed. He elected to lean against the desk.

 

“What the hell were you doing?” she asked sleepily.

 

“Out for a walk.”

 

Despite being groggy she managed to shoot him a respectable glare. “’m not stupid. And in case ya forgot, I’m your friend. Who you trust, last time I checked. So tell me what you were doin’.” She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

He stared at her. She glowered up at him, clad in her pink pyjamas, her jaw set and her shoulders square. A lock of blonde hair had fallen into her face. She had lost any traces of sleepiness, and behind those soft whisky-coloured eyes there was something fierce and challenging. The Doctor had seen this expression on her face a few times before (her face, her lovely face) and had had difficulty lying or saying no every time she wore it.

 

The Doctor drew in a deep breath. “All right,” he said in measured tones. “I was considering – considering, mind – offering myself up to the Dyrfain. To – ”

 

She slapped him.

 

Instinctively his hand flew to his cheek. She took after her mother in the way of slaps. “Oi! That hurt!”

 

She glared at him. “Are you really that stupid, or is it just me?” She shook her head and seemed to deflate then, shoulders sagging. “That you even let that thought fly through your stupid alien head… I just can’t believe you.” Her head snapped up again. “You were gonna just _offer yourself up_ , and, and then what? Let them win? Is that what the Doctor does when he finds himself in a corner?”

 

“I had some ideas,” he argued, nursing his still-stinging cheek. “Was gonna negotiate with them. My life, a last taste o’ Time Lord, in exchange for leavin’ Earth alone.”

 

Rose shook her head, still incredulous. “See, see the thing is, I don’t believe you. And I don’t believe you feel, totally and completely, without a doubt, that these Dyrfain things wouldn’t lie. We’ve made bargains before, and look how they turned out? Does the word _Gelth_ ring a bell?” She threw her arms up in the air and began to pace the small space. The Doctor stood there, shoulders set back, silently watching her. “But okay, I’ll bite. Say you actually did believe the Dyrfain’d keep their word. Say they did it. Well, that still ain’t good enough, is it? Because, because you’d be gone.”

 

The Doctor was half-expecting her to burst into tears – women did that often following emotional monologues, in his experience – but instead she continued on, angry. So all he could do was continue standing, waiting for her to finish.

 

He so very much wanted her to finish.

 

“No,” Rose finally said, spinning on him, one finger raised in accusation and shaking. “No, you don’t do that. You don’t get to do that. Not long as I’m around.” She dropped back onto the bed, seemingly truly exhausted, at long last, but she still wasn’t done. As she glared resolutely at him, she said forcefully, “Promise me. Promise me you won’t even bloody _think_ about doing something so _bloody thick_ ever again.”

 

“Rose, I – ”

 

“ _Promise me_.”

 

“Yeah.” The Doctor sank down next to her. “Yeah, okay. I promise. I promise.”

 

She let out a long breath and finally leaned against his shoulder, eyes drifting shut. “Good,” she murmured. “Good.” But she didn’t sound like she fully believed him, and she had every reason not to.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria's hometown is a fictional one; it's quite literally the Irish Gaelic word for "refuge." Although it turns out it's a neighbourhood in Cork, it's not a real village.
> 
> Also, a sort of disclaimer: There's a line in here lifted and adapted from the movie "Genius" with Colin Firth, but it's quite short. I'd tell you what line beforehand, but, well, as River Song would say, spoilers.

The Doctor woke up in an uncomfortable position, half-slumped against the wall by the head of his bed. Rose had fallen asleep, too, at the bed's foot: she'd been sitting normally and had tipped over sideways. Platinum blonde hair spilled over her face.

The Doctor groaned and winced, massaging the small of his back as he forced himself into a standing position. His sleep-fogged mind groped about and slowly reformed last night's events.

Oh. Fantastic.

He reckoned Rose would have an earful to give him when she woke. A pointed jibe at least.

Might as well let her rest for now, then.

The Doctor leaned over and brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her nose twitched slightly and she batted at his hand. The Doctor felt something like a smile tug at the corners of his lips even as he straightened and sat down at his desk. He pulled his sonic from his inner pocket and absently fiddled with it, eyes drawn to the faint blue glow emitting from its tip.

"Stupid thing hums, y'know." Rose's groggy mumble came from behind, and the Doctor turned around.

"Morning to you, too."

"Did I seriously fall asleep here?" Rose scrubbed a hand down her face. "Don't matter now, I guess. 'cept 'm all _stiff_ now. Oh, Doctor, listen. We need a plan. You got that? One that doesn't involve you dying."

The Doctor nodded once. "Been thinking about it."

"Well, there's an awful response if I've ever heard one," Rose deadpanned. She stood, groaning and rubbing her back. "We've gotta _think_. We ain't got – the usual resources, so we're gonna have to work with what we got, yeah?"

He nodded.

"And Maria. We ought to find Maria. We're gonna need her."

He nodded again. He was only bobbing his head up and down. It was simple, a straightforward, physical process.

"So. If you've really been thinking, then share those thoughts."

The Doctor thought. He hated thinking when people asked him to, and it wasn't easy without the usual omnipresence of the TARDIS, resting in the back of his mind and near, always near, but he thought anyway.

At least he thought quickly. After a minute or two of maintaining a pensive, _thoughtful_ expression on his face to keep Rose satisfied, he clapped his hands together. "We got to find Maria. Completely agree." He laced his fingers together now, leaning against the desk. "Listen. I _haven't_ got the… usual resources, like you said, but I brought some stuff with me."

"All right?"

The Doctor allowed his features to form a grim expression. "You're probably not gonna like it from here." She looked instantly suspicious, and he sighed. "We've got to speak to the creatures." Before she could protest, he raised a finger. "And seeing as we're trusting Maria – which we are, totally and completely – then we'll discuss it with her."

Rose looked nervous, but she nodded slowly.

"Fantastic. Well, that's settled, then." The Doctor gave a bright grin and pushed off the desk, strode purposefully towards the door, and swung it open. He looked up and down the passageway – deserted, and for certain this time, thank God – then marched towards one of the staff panels on the wall and pressed down on the button.

…

They had to wait nearly ten minutes for Maria to arrive. The laundry-maid did so in a flurry of apologies – "I'm sorry, it was just really hard for me to get away – they weren't sure they wanted us staff members running about tending to passengers' simple needs – "

"'s fine," Rose smiled easily. "Come on inside." She jerked her head in the direction of the cabin room, and Maria followed.

The Doctor was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in a devil-may-care sort of position. Maria and Rose took their seats at the desk chair and on the bed, respectively.

"So… do we have a plan, then?" Maria wanted to know.

"Sort of," Rose shrugged, casting the Doctor a glance. "We know we don't want to make any sacrifices, at least." This last she enunciated with a pointed look. "Now we're trying to work with what we've got."

"No… sacrifices," Maria repeated slowly. "Well, there's a start."

"It wasn't a _sacrifice_ ," the Doctor muttered under his breath. Rose elected to ignore him.

"Anyway," she said smoothly. "The Dyrfain want to establish their new empire on Earth, yeah? And they need to store essences, gather enough energy, like the Doctor said. They're presenting us with two choices: either take the Doctor's more powerful essence, or keep takin' lives of passengers and crew until they got what they need."

"I remember," Maria nodded. "So… if they took the Doctor's essence, nobody else would have to die?"

"Nobody on the ship," the Doctor corrected her. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "not quite as simple as all that, though."

"How d'you mean?" Rose frowned.

"Time Lord essences are powerful," he explained. "My people were among the better-known races of the universe, in their time. Hardly a civilisation that didn't know us. That adds on to their strength. Leads to inflated egos, too," he added. "Anyway, there's a whole bunch of factors that contribute to our essences being as strong – and desirable – as they are, but that's one of 'em. Anyway, one o' the problems the Dyrfain have with humans is that, for all your benefits, you lot are ridiculously cut off from the rest of the universe, 'specially in this century. You don't even know about the Time Lords, and it's one of your weaknesses as essences."

"You mean – "

"In an uncultured race like yours, even knowledge of other races actually adds to the strength and power of your essence. Knowledge is a powerful tool, after all, and knowledge you shouldn't have… Anyway, combine a human and Time Lord essence, and with the Time Lord being dominant, you've got something pretty bleedin' powerful."

"Like a hybrid?" Rose pulled a face.

"No, no." The Doctor shook his head. "Just knowledge of a Time Lord can make a human essence incredibly strong, more filling and a better energy source'n just any old thing. Almost as powerful as a Time Lord essence itself, though still a decent ways off."

Maria sat forward. "So you're saying… "

He seemed to catch himself then. "I'm sayin' it's in your best interest to be careful," he said sharply. "Both your essences are desirable far as the Dyrfain are concerned. They're after me, and I'll do, but they wouldn't complain about having a little extra. And you really _have_ got to be careful. See, the Dyrfain have got this little trick – haven't you been wonderin' how they acquire their victims? Lure the fly into the parlour, like Maria said? They don't well drag 'em down to the engine room kicking and screaming. Their nobles are the strongest as psychics; they've got the ability to go inside a person's mind. They extract thoughts and memories and morals, and from all that, they choose a form to acquire that'll best lure their victim to wherever they them want to go."

"And it could be anything? Anyone?"

"Nah, not quite. They couldn't take the form of, say, your mum or best friend if that's what you're thinking. Too specific. Instead, they take on the form of a _representation_ of whatever'll work best on you. Like if you were some bloke whose wife died. The Dyrfain wouldn't take the form of his wife, just that of a woman. …One universal form. Even the bloke wouldn't necessarily see his wife, not even in his own head – though it does depend on the person, varies from individual to individual – but it wouldn't matter. And chances are the tug's been getting stronger and stronger with each person who's died. The Dyrfain get stronger over time, see, stronger as psychics and telepaths. They've got plenty of races – like Time Lords – worked out perfectly fine, but somehow I reckon they've never encountered a human before. There's an adjustment period – though they learn pretty quick. 'course, all that's for a person who didn't know a damn thing about the Dyrfain. Not sure how it'd work for someone who had their defences up, like you two, or a… person willing to die."

"Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? None of us is going to offer ourselves up," Maria said forcefully.

"Right," he caught himself. "Doesn't matter. Best to forget it. Anyway – "

"He really was considering offering himself up, wasn't he, Rose?" Maria turned to her. "Really… considering… " When Rose nodded, once, solemnly, the laundry-maid spun on the Time Lord. "We all know that isn't happening. So let's think of something else. Have you got any little Time Lord knick-knacks?"

"Not anymore," the Doctor deadpanned, and Maria had the decency to look sheepish. "Though now that you mention it – " his expression morphed, and a light kindled in his eyes – "I might have something or other… " He patted around his chest, then thrust his hand deep into the pockets of his jacket.

"Your… energy-reading thing?" Rose cocked a brow, and the Doctor wrinkled his nose and shook his head as he began to produce from his pockets all manner of things that should not have fit within their limited depths, all of which he tossed onto the desk – a dumbbell, an Icelandic dictionary, a small device that looked to Rose like a transparent video game controller with unusually tiny buttons, a set of keys so large it must have weighed several pounds, a few bananas and banana peels – until suddenly he shook his head, muttered something to himself in what could only been his own tongue, and picked up the transparent video game controller, having apparently not realised he'd discarded it. He now held it up victoriously, as one might a key, a little grin on his face.

"This old thing," he said. "Had it for ages 'n' forgot. Might prove useful." That familiar expression was spreading across his features, eyes brightening, grin spreading. He was thinking. For real this time. "Simple enough to operate, pair o' you should be able to work it out with no trouble."

"Care to enlighten us, Doctor?" Rose said.

"It's sort of an energy-reading device, yeah. Not like the other one, though. That one was mostly for tracing and tapping into levels of psychic energy, tracing waves of its flow. This thing's different, invented it myself. Ages back. Blimey, I was practically a kid – probably why it's so easy to operate. Anyway. It works like this." the Doctor held the device out in front of him, then passed it to Maria to hold. Maria, looking nervous, wielded it as he had done, turning her head from side to side so as to study it. The Doctor rambled on, seemingly speaking faster with each word.

"It's essentially a follow-up to that other bit o' rubbish. A sequel."

"A… sequel." Rose repeated.

"Well… yeah. See, I made it with that other thing in mind. If you're in a certain environment – preferably an isolated, enclosed environment, which luckily we are – and you've managed to trace levels of psychic energy down to a very particular location, you can tap into those energy readings, like a hacker. We can monitor every wave of psychic energy coming out of the engine room in precise detail, even narrow things down so my energy signature doesn't mingle with the Dyrfain's and mess things up. We just don't enter it into the equation, and there you go."

" _Your_ energy signature?" Rose narrowed her eyes. "But if we're only tracing the… energy waves or whatever from the engine room, then they wouldn't be part of the – equation at all."

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm heading down there."

Rose threw her arms in the air. "Not this again!"

"What? I did _tell_ you that you weren't gonna – No, no. You don't understand. I'm not about to head down there to offer myself up, or whatever you're picturin' in your little human head. Really. Just gonna negotiate. Got a way with words, me. And – " he cut Rose off as she opened her mouth to protest – "if they don't… agree to talk peacefully, then I've got a backup plan."

"Which is?"

"Destroy their machinery." He gave a nonchalant little shrug.

"That's… actually clever." Maria had been silently studying the Doctor's invention, but now she spoke up. Rose, not getting it, turned to her in puzzlement, and the Irish girl elaborated. "If they don't agree to the Doctor's terms, then their own work will be completely destroyed. They'll have nothing to build on, and if anything they'll be set back and we'll have time to think." She smiled at the Doctor with something like respect. "You're a real pacifist, aren't you?"

His breath caught, but he nodded once.

"What are your terms, by the way?"

"Oh. Haven't decided yet."

When Maria looked incredulous, Rose laughed. "'s normal. This idiot here's used to winging it, and he's good, too. Well." She sighed, slapping her hands down on her thighs as she stood. "Worth a shot, yeah? Now show us how your latest bit o' space junk works."

…

Neither Rose nor Maria could pretend to understand the details of the workings of his own energy-reading device. Occasionally he would spit out complicated formulas, long strings of numbers intermingled with words that must have had at least ten syllables, and Rose couldn't be certain they were all in English. That he spoke as he sonicked and sometimes violently shook the device – "working," he called it – didn't exactly help. He had a habit of getting like this, of course, but she had to admit even this broke all records.

"Anyway," he concluded, closing Maria's fingers around the device, "essentially what you've got to do is keep an eye on these last three digits here – " he pointed to an all but microscopic panel near the top-centre of the device – and one of you ought to have your little finger on the lever here at all times, unless it shocks you, in which case I'd advise dropping it straight off and kicking it to the far side of the room."

"And… why?" Maria was studying the device with newfound suspicion.

"Means it's overheating, and that's not good. It won't harm you, but the device does rely on some level of energy waves off a sentient, intelligent life form to keep it warm. If it overheats, then that means your own energy levels are starting to interfere with the readings."

"You sure we're cut out for this?" Rose tried. "I mean, you seem to know what you're doin'. Us, not so much. You do realise we have no idea how to read the, the energy levels or whatever?"

"'course you do." The Doctor was indignant. "I explained – "

Rose raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"Oh. Right. Human. Sorry." He sighed impatiently, and gestured to the device again. "In a unit of measure you're not and never will be familiar with, this old thing measures levels of psychic energy, yeah? What really counts is the last three digits – there's always gonna be slight fluctuations, nothin' to get worked up about, but if there's any _significant_ changes, these last three digits will display it. So if the first one drops or spikes, keep your guard up. If the second one drops or spikes, or if the first one starts to fluctuate rapidly, then give me a ring." He tapped his breast pocket where he was keeping Maria's phone, borrowed and modified with a bit of jiggery-pokery.

"And you'll come back?"

He nodded. "I'll make some excuse."

"And you're sure it _works_?"

"Mostly, yeah."

Rose paused. "So what _does_ it mean if the last three digits change?"

"The Dyrfain's psychic energy levels are kept mostly stable. 's how they work. But if there's a significant change, it means they're preparing to – well, you know. Probably they'll try to catch me off guard with it."

Rose closed her eyes. "Why don't I totally trust you?"

"Because," the Doctor replied, "you should never trust anyone completely." He paused. "Unless, you're trusting me, of course." He clasped her hand a moment. "And I do you." Then he stood, their fingers slipping apart. "Ready?" Without waiting for an answer, he grinned at her. "Be seein' you, then, Rose Tyler."

She had to grin back. "Yeah. See ya."

"And Maria – " he addressed her as he turned to her – "you ain't got rid of me yet."

She smiled, raising her chin slightly. "I wouldn't want to."

"Right." He paused, eyes darting between the two of them for a moment. "Like I said. Be seein' ya." He patted his breast pocket, where the phone was situated, gave them one last grin, and then he opened the cabin door and slipped out, closing it behind him as he went.

A final question sat on the tips of both their tongues, one that had gone as unanswered as it had unasked. Both women were aware of it. The question worked its into the air, a stray thought. The room was soon swollen with it.

What did it mean if the last digit changed?

…

It was funny, he reflected, making his way down the stairwell to Deck A. The extents to which people went to trust him. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Rose was letting him – _trusting_ him – to head down here alone.

Ha. He knew he'd made a good choice inviting her to travel with him.

Good old trust. Good old friendship.

Not that he actually _was_ handing the Dyrfain his life, mind, all wrapped up in pretty brown paper. The Doctor had told more than his fair share of lies, but he really did mean to negotiate with them, grim though the prospects seemed.

The Doctor was one for doing things on a whim. But on every adventure, every quest, in every situation he stepped into, he always had some semblance of a plan, a final chip to play. Today, he had a plan, and he had a Plan B, and he had a Plan C, the lot of them worked out neatly in his head in a pretty little list. His energy device would keep Rose and Maria occupied, though technically it was fully accurate and functional.

Also funny – he'd exited the stairwell and walked the full length of Deck A's passageway. Now he was crossing the threshold of the watertight door into the engine room, had gotten there without even noticing. Even funnier, the door was open, but he couldn't for the life of him recall whether he'd opened it himself or if it had been that way to begin with.

He began to walk, his stride steady and sure, venturing deeper into the engine room. Voices like the fluttering, rustling wings of a thousand moths brushed against his mind, and he did his best to bat them away.

"Hello, Doctor."

The Dyrfain's voice caught him off guard and he spun on his heel to see her standing there just behind him, head titled and smile sweet as ever.

He offered her a curt nod, and she giggled, rocking back and forth on her heels. "We've all been waiting for you, Doctor. How nice to see you."

"Can't say likewise."

"Well, honesty _is_ a good virtue, I suppose." Another airy little laugh. "The Time Lord comes with a plan, I see." She pushed her cheek out with her tongue, then grinned at him. "More than one."

His mind raced. Right, then, terms. An agreement. He laid down the tracks for his train of thought, and after a moment heard the sound of an oncoming steam engine.

He opened his mouth. And then –

A sudden pain in his chest hit him with staggering force, made him gasp aloud, and he saw stars.

He realised he was lying on his back on the cold concrete ground. His mind groped out blindly, trying to regain his composure, his thoughts.

And then he was suspended in midair, and he wasn't thinking anything at all.

…

"How long d'you reckon it's gonna take?" asked Rose anxiously.

Maria was still holding onto the Doctor's energy device, little finger on the lever and both eyes on the number panel. "I haven't the foggiest." She hesitated, then her gaze slid upwards to meet Rose's. "You're very worried for him."

"Well, yeah, 'course I am!" Rose was immediately indignant. "He's done some… he's done stuff that's completely mental before, but not like this."

"You don't trust him completely, then."

"No. 'course I don't."

"Well, of course you _wouldn't_." Maria inclined her head to the side. "I don't either. I'm just as scared as you he'll do something – rash."

That sounded like the Doctor. Rose had to admit she was impressed with Maria. The Irish girl had known him for just a few days, but it seemed that already, it was just as well as Rose did. Rose had been travelling with the Doctor for – well, it had been a few months now, she reckoned – and felt as if she was still discovering him. She tried to think back to the earliest days of their travels together: Cardiff 1869 and Platform One.

Or maybe their adventures had just been simpler. Maybe she'd just been lucky.

The problem with this journey, she reasoned, was that there wasn't nearly enough running involved.

It was Maria's hand on her arm that snapped her back into the real world. " – yeah?"

Maria's dark brown eyes had grown very wide. "The first digit. It's changed."

"What?!"

With her free hand, Maria pointed. The digit had been a lovely, stable _7_ before. It was now an _8_.

"So, we just watch, yeah?" Rose let out a whoosh of breath. Her hand went to her jumper pocket, and she fingered the phone there. "Maybe it's nothing. Or, or a mistake. If you're gonna travel with us, you'd better get used to the Doctor makin' all kinds of stupid mistakes."

"Right." Maria nodded. "I suppose. So we just – well, the Doctor _did_ say we ought to keep our guard up, didn't he? And… that's all."

Both Rose and Maria nodded again, as much to themselves as to each other, and waited with bated breath.

The seconds.

Ticked by.

The second digit, once a _4,_ changed to a _3_ in that exact same moment the first digit spiked up one, and then began to flicker frantically between _8_ and _9_.

"Right. I'm ringing him." Rose surged to her feet, whipped out her phone, dialled the number. She held the phone to her ear.

Ring.

_Get out of there_.

Ring.

_Get out, get out_.

Ring.

_Come back, come back. Get out. Come back._

Ring.

_Doctor, you stupid bloody –_

Voicemail.

Rose had to hold back from tossing the phone onto the floor. "He's not answering." She began to zip up her jumper. "I'm going to head down there."

"What?!"

"What, you think 'm just gonna leave him down there?" said Rose hotly. "Sit here, call over and over and cross my fingers he'll pick up this time? I'm gonna help, whatever it bloody takes."

The hesitation in Maria's eyes lasted a mere second. "All right," she said. "All right, you're right. He can't be down there alone. But let me go."

"What - ? No, no way – "

It was now Maria's turn to stand. "I want to go down there."

"Why you and not me?"

"Yes, exactly. Why you and not me?" Maria let out a breath. "If I'm going to be travelling with you two, I can expect to get myself in a fix once in a while, can't I? Expect to wind up having to save his arse every so often. I expect he always tells you 'no,' too, doesn't he? 'No, it's too dangerous.' Well." There was another pause. "You stay here with this old thing. Or don't you trust me?"

Rose faltered. "You're the one holding the energy device," she said at last.

Maria grabbed her hand in both of hers, guiding her pinkie to the lever. Then she took a large step back. "Not anymore."

".. fine." Rose bit her lip. "I'm just scared for ya, y'know?"

"I imagine he's always much more afraid for you."

Rose closed her eyes. "Usually, before he heads off to do something _completely stupid_ , we hug."

"There," Maria smiled, "I haven't got any objection." She stepped forward again, embracing Rose tightly, drawing her close, and Rose returned it with a fierce one-armed hug. They let go a moment later, stepping back. "Oh – I ought to leave you this. Just in case." From her pocket she removed an access card for the lower decks. "I've got a spare."

"Just be careful, yeah?" Rose managed.

Maria smirked. "Do the pair of _you_ ever do careful?" And then she was gone.

…

Maria had never been down to the lower levels of the ship. She'd never had cause to. The stairwell leading down to Deck A had been ill-lit enough, but now she found herself plunged into true darkness. She wondered if she was supposed to feel as though she was being watched.

The watertight door at the end of the passageway was ajar. Whether the Doctor had left it that way or whether it had always been open, Maria couldn't guess. A pale sliver of light poured from the crack, a mockery of a beacon. She made her way towards it.

Her footsteps resonated on the cold concrete floor. The acrid air burned her lungs, her throat, made her eyes water. Still, she marched on. She swallowed down something like bile that had begun to crawl its way up her throat as she neared the door. On reaching it, she paused for a moment, peering around it to see if there was anything she could see.

Or hear, for that matter.

Though she could make out vague shapes of what she could only presume to be engines, the angle at which she was peering into the room offered very little. And in terms of sounds…

There was nothing. An absolute and utter nothing. Just the dull, droning, monotonous hum of the engines fulfilling their duty. She could not hear the Doctor's voice, no trace of the steely Northern burr she had quickly warmed to.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

Gathering her breath, her thoughts, and her courage, she slipped past the door into the engine room.

She squinted slightly at the sudden brightness, but felt no need to shield her eyes. She stopped for a moment to take in the view. Hulking masses of engines towered over her on either side like sentries.

But there was no sign of the Doctor. Squaring her shoulders, she ventured deeper into the room, turning in a random direction. After taking a few steps, she thought she could make out something like whispering. She picked up the pace, barely acknowledging where the engines had been defaced.

The almost-whispering grew louder, a tapestry of hushed voices reeling her in.

A right turn, and then she saw him – the Doctor. He was lying on his side on the floor, curled in on himself ever so slightly. His eyes were half-shut, and he made small moaning sounds. She rushed to his side, his name on the tip of her tongue, grabbing his hands with one of her own, grasping firm hold of his shoulder with the other. He was cold.

He moaned, lids fluttering. He made a sound that might have been an attempt to utter her name. "Doctor – " she began.

"Maria."

She startled, head snapping up. She could not have imagined how long the creature standing over them had been there – perhaps the entire time. Vaguely she was aware of her thoughts lagging behind slightly, mind growing sluggish.

Nor could she have begun to describe the creature. It was humanoid, she supposed. Slim build, dark hair to its shoulders. At gunpoint, she might have said it was a woman, but it could just as easily have been a man, or a child. In truth, it was more of a blank slate, a painter's anatomy mannequin, and her mind flicked from one understanding of it to another. The only consistency was how very _wrong_ it was; empty eyes and chalk-white skin marred by cracks and fissures that spread across its face.

She stared at the creature, unable to tear her eyes from it.

"How interesting." The Dyrfain's voice was a honey-sweet hush, crawling up Maria's spine, and clinging to her skin from the inside. "You are unlike the others. I can enter, but I cannot settle on a form for you. I shall have to explore that mind further. How exciting for myself and my kin! And what a meal you shall prove."

She tensed, but glowered up at the Dyrfain, shaking her head to clear the fogginess there.

"I won't be a meal for anyone. I'm here for the Doctor. What have you _done_ to him? Let him go."

"But we've already started our machines up," replied the Dyrfain, lower lip sticking out in a childish pout.

"I don't _care_ whether you've started them or not."

"Of course, if you would prefer it, it would only be too easy for us to let the Time Lord go. A shame, but hardly a challenge. If you would have it, we could just as well claim the essences of another dozen or so passengers and staff." The Dyrfain hummed contemplatively. "Perhaps that would be for the better, no? After all, they're all just ordinary folk. The Doctor is _special_."

"You," said Maria, voice trembling, will not claim the lives of _anyone else_. I'll… I'll destroy your precious machines. Where you, where you store the energy of those poor people you killed. And then you'll – "

"Spunk. Some of my kin find it a bit too sour, but I rather like the taste of it." The Dyrfain shuddered, and Maria suddenly felt as though she were naked, exposed. She crossed her arms over her chest, sparing a quick glance at the Doctor. His eyelids had fluttered shut again. "You are such a noble little human, kind and – brave. Silly me, to think that Maria would sit back and let innocent people die. The Doctor is fond of you, after all: he and his friends are remarkably alike when it comes down to it. There is always another option, you know."

The Dyrfain vanished and she gasped. Then its voice sounded from somewhere deep within the room, where the engines were built so tall they cast the space between them in shadow. It was dark there, and unexplored. Though she could not see, she could sense the Dyrfain standing there. Waiting for her.

For her.

_Nobody else on this ship will have to die_.

_The knowledge of a Time Lord_.

Maria closed her eyes, kneeling down again to brush a hand along the Doctor's cheek. He stirred slightly. Looking closer, she could see the lines of his face were pinched in pain, even in his semi-conscious state.

_Not sure how it'd work for someone who had their defences up, like you two. Or… a person willing to die._

It would not solve the problem. But it would give them time.

"You've already started your machines up," she said, rising once again. "Is that right?"

She could make out a humanoid silhouette if she squinted into the darkness, nothing more. And she was, too, aware of the creature's broad smile. Affirmative, then.

"I know of the Doctor," she said softly. "I know he is a Time Lord. I am completely and utterly human, and I know that there are complex, advanced races and civilisations spreading across every corner of the universe. My essence is filling, and powerful. So. My life for his. What do you say?"

"It would be my pleasure," the Dyrfain crooned. "Come closer, then. Shh. _This way_ … "

Maria inched forward another few paces, trembling. "A long time ago," she whispered, and her voice quavered too, coming out weak and almost pitiful, "when we, my people, cloaked ourselves in furs, and animal skins, and lived in caves, we would gather around the fire and tell stories. So we wouldn't be so afraid in the dark." She swallowed. "I'm afraid. So let me tell my story."

Her heart began to beat faster, its pace more frantic, as if trying to escape the ribcage that contained it. A cage was a cage, after all.

"My name is Maria O'Sullivan. I am twenty years old. I was born in Ireland, in the town of Dídean. When I was a wee girl, my mam would sit me on her knee, and she would tell me stories. Stories of the faerie-folk, and of leprechauns, and pixies, and tricksters. Whether or not they existed in the real world was all up to me, and I would spend my childhood jumping streams and climbing trees looking for them. But it didn't matter whether they existed or not. Not really. What mattered was that I sought them out. And maybe it wasn't the faerie-folk and leprechauns I was looking for at all. Maybe I was just chasing out a story – that's what counts, isn't it? All this time I thought it was about them, but it wasn't. It was about me. I was looking for my story. I've been chasing it all these years. And tonight I've found it."

The voices closed themselves around her as she inched towards the darkness.

The deep and lovely dark.

Who could resist?

"This is the story of how I stood up."

Her chest felt as if it were about to burst.

"I am not standing up for the whole of humanity or Earth. I am standing up for individual, innocent people, each one on their own. I am standing up against your actions, and for what I believe is right. I am standing up for myself, and for my friends and family. I am standing up for my dad, and my mam. I am standing up for the Doctor, and for Rose, and for the lives of the people you already took. It's not a bad way to go."

" _Yes. Yes. Shh. This way…._ "

"And maybe," she continued, her voice raising even as it trembled all the more, and she suppressed a soft sob as it worked its way up her throat, "maybe my story will go forgotten and untold. Maybe my story will be lost to the winds. I imagine it will. But it doesn't matter, because I am telling it now. And it is mine." She stared defiantly.

There was something like a smile on the Dyrfain creature's face. It reached out a hand in welcome.

Maria took a final step forward, and the darkness and the Dyrfain and the voices embraced her.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author attempts to write a final showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Believe it or not, this story is actually coming to a close, as this marks the penultimate chapter. I can't believe it's going to be over soon – it's been a real ride with a whole lot of suffering and with my own weird imagination at play. My favourite kind of ride… at any rate, I'd love to hear all your thoughts, as ever, and any feedback on how I can improve – namely in my writing for Nine, Rose, and my characterisation of Maria, but any feedback at all really – means the world to me. Not that that's a hint or anything. I'm very iffy about the way Nine comes off in this chapter because he doesn't completely feel like Nine to me, and I think I gave him a bit too much of an Eleven vibe. Writing this stuff is hard.

* * *

 

The Doctor came to by degrees.

A mind-splitting headache. (Sore, so sore, then he realised it was his entire body that ached terribly).

A tight feeling in his chest.

Then, warmth; and something soft beneath him.

It took a moment for these pieces to come together in his confused mind. Where was he? He groped, but couldn't quite work it out, couldn't quite remember. He knew something had happened to him, something of significance. He thought it had been something of significance anyway. He opened his eyes.

Light, piercing light. He immediately squeezed his lids shut with an involuntary groan of pain.

Fingers, soft and gentle, stroked his brow, brushed through his short-cropped hair. "Mornin', sleepyhead." The Doctor allowed his eyes to drift open again, slowly this time. It took a few seconds to adjust to the light, but when he did it was to register Rose's face, just inches from his. Her expression was tender, but even in his bleary-minded state there was no missing the worry etched into those soft features.

He was in his cabin room, he realised, lying under the covers. He was still fully dressed, though his shoes were off. Why was he dressed? He always slept shirtless. Rose seemed to be kneeling on the floor next to him. She had pulled her hand away, and now rested her elbows on the edge of the bed, chin in hand.

She looked tired.

"What - ?" he began to ask, propping himself up slightly on his elbows, but she shushed him.

" _Hshhh._ Jus' relax. Hold on."

"But what hap- ?"

" _Shh._ _Shh_. Jus' relax."

He tried to, tried to lower himself back down onto the bed. Then, just seconds later, it all came back to him in a rush: the Dyrfain. The engine room. Maria.

Oh, by every star in the sky, _Maria_.

The Doctor sat bolt upright. At once, Rose had a hand pressed to his chest, easing him back down. He jerked away, kicking furiously at the blankets until they fell to the floor in a tangled heap. Rose reached up a hand again, this time seemingly to try and subdue him, but he would have none of it. One arm shot outwards, shoving her away. Rose recoiled, but there was nothing frightened in her expression.

"Doctor." Her tone was low and forceful. "You've been out for almost a day. Your head's not gonna be workin' right, and after – at least sit still and listen to what happened."

They locked eyes. Rose had a strange look on her face, one she'd never seen before. It was similar to the expression one might wear while attempting to console a raging bull. A moment taut with tension, and then the Doctor bowed his head and nodded once, averting his gaze.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. Jus' – stay sitting down, yeah?" She stood slowly, and backed up until she hit the desk. She pulled herself to sit on top of it, legs dangling.

"So, what happened, then?" he asked tonelessly.

Silence.

" _Rose_."

She opened her mouth, and then he noticed her red-rimmed eyes; she'd been crying. She sucked in a deep breath before answering, and her voice was uncharacteristically quiet when she spoke.

"The second digit changed, and me and Maria weren't sure what to do. You weren't answering your phone, so we… I was gonna do it, it should've been me, but she insisted on headin' down herself to check on ya. Left me with the whatsit device. I dunno how long it was, five minutes maybe, and then the third digit changed so I decided to head down there myself. Got to the engine room, and the place is all brightly lit and weird-like, and there ain't a sound, not a Dyrfain in sight. And then I saw you lyin' there, totally unconscious, and _Maria_ – "

"Dead."

She swallowed and nodded. "Dead," she whispered. "Her body. I couldn't carry both of ya up." A long pause, an almost childlike whimper. "'m sorry."

Maria, dead.

"Doctor?" Her words came to him as if his head were underwater.

He'd known, of course, but hearing the words said out loud made it all the more real.

His thoughts made way for his feelings. The Doctor surged to his feet and made a dive for the door; the charging bull faced with a flash of red fabric.

"Doctor." Her voice was low. "Listen. For God's sake, just listen. Remember, remember what you always say – hey. I'm the one that's supposed to be jeopardy friendly, not you, yeah? I'm the one with the stupid ape mind. So, so jus' _listen_ – this is – you've gotta _stop_ and _think_ – give yourself a moment to recover, you're not _thinkin'_ straight – "

"You're right." He grinned at her, snatched up the access card lying on the desk. Maria's access card. "'m not." He made for the door and began to head down the passageway.

" _Doctor - !_ " She surged after him, but even her own little jog was no match for his long, brisk strides, and she lagged just behind. She followed him all the way down the stairs as far as Deck D, then down its passageway as they exited the main stairwell. She called and cursed after him all the way, and her words washed past him as he strode determinedly on.

"Doctor, you're being bloody _stupid_ – " Rose hissed for the nth time as he reached the door to the staff stairwell. He ignored her, producing the sonic, which he used to open the door. When she realised that it was he who had the access card, she made a grab for his jacket. He shoved her off, more roughly than he'd intended, and she nearly toppled to the floor, catching herself just in time.

Just in time for him to shove the door shut. She dove, but it was too late – it clicked shut as her fingers brushed the handle, accompanied by a small _beep_ that indicated it had effectively locked. Rose was left to pound her fists against the door and shout his name.

"Doctor! Doctor! Doctor, if you don't open this _bloody_ door _right now_ – "

No response.

She kicked with all her might. " _DOCTOR!_ "

Still there was no answer.

Of _course_ there wasn't.

Rose released a huff of frustration, punching the door one last time. Her mind raced. There had to be something, _something_ she could do. There was always something.

She began to pace – a habit she'd picked up from the Doctor – and took to tugging at clumps of her hair. "Think," she muttered to herself. "Think, Rose, _think_."

Thinking. That had never been her forte, unless it was thinking on her feet. And if she'd had a _means_ for thinking on her feet right now, of using the items around her, she would have. Instead she was stuck behind a heavy locked door. A useless little ape, as the Doctor might have said.

She let out a frustrated yell and punched the access card panel on the wall next to the door, hard. Then she brought her knuckles to her mouth.

If only she'd had a mind for tinkering, for technology. But she was almost as useless as her mum when it came to that sort of thing – almost. She knew how to operate the VHS player, thank you very much.

Mickey. He was good with cars, mechanics, anything electronic. If Mickey were here, she thought, he'd have been able to come up with some way to get this door open.

_Mickey_.

God, she was desperate.

And she missed him.

She wondered how many minutes had gone by since he'd shut the door. It seemed an eternity ago, just as much as it seemed mere seconds had passed. She wasn't. Bloody. _Thinking_ straight.

Rose chewed at her lip. The Doctor had lifted the access card Maria had given her, and she wasn't about to go and beg the staff for admittance.

And he had the sonic screwdriver, of course.

Bloody alien and his bits of space junk.

_Space junk._

Rose stopped mid-pace, breath wavering. That old device of his was still going, she was sure. And if it was…

It wasn't much. But it was something. And at least she would have the vaguest idea of what was going on. At least she'd be able to determine whether or not he was still _alive_.

She turned on her heel and raced for the cabin.

 

…

 

For the third time in just a few days, the Doctor headed down to the engine room of the _SS Bad Wolf_.

"Third time's the charm," he said to himself, with a dry chuckle.

The engines were humming as they always did, and the air was sharp with that same coppery taste, and he could sense himself being watched, but for once the Doctor scarcely noticed. There was only him, and the watertight door at the end of Deck A's passageway. And she who awaited him on the other side, too, he supposed.

The door, as ever, was open and waiting.

He continued towards it.

Suddenly, a hand slipped into his – small and soft and far too warm. He snatched his hand back and looked down to see her staring up at him. Her expression was unsettlingly solemn. "Hello, Doctor. Welcome back."

"Where the hell did you spring from, then?"

"Doctor. Really, now. You might like to brush up on those observation skills. You never even noticed me. That can hardly serve you well in the future." She reached for his hand again.

He glowered at her but said nothing, and stuffed both of his own into his pockets. He carried on towards the watertight door, his already brisk pace picking up. The Dyrfain skipped alongside him to keep up, bare feet slapping rhythmically against the concrete floor.

"Why have you come this time? You're always changing your mind. It's very confusing."

Having reached the end of the passageway, he ducked into the engine room. "I don't know," he admitted. "But you probably already knew that, didn't you?"

She laughed. "Of course."

_It_ , he tried to remind himself, but as he tried to grasp firm hold of the thought, it passed through his hands like water. It was nearly impossible to remember the truth when she was standing there in front of him, girlish as ever. Her presence, the voices of her kin, pressed in on the edges of his mind; her _essence_ obscured his thought and reached out to his.

He touched a hand to one engine. It was quite cool. The Dyrfain joined him, stroking the corroding metal almost lovingly. "We're so close now, you know. A breath away from establishing our new home on Earth."

"Yeah, I think we made it pretty clear I wasn't gonna let you do that."

"And didn't we make it clear your opinion matters little to us?" She dropped the hand that had been pressed against the engine and balled it into a small fist. Almost instantly, he felt it, that same tight, choking feeling in his chest. A feeling like all the air was being sucked from his lungs, wrung out like a wet towel. He gasped despite himself and staggered – and then, a moment later, it was over. He breathed heavily, raising a hand to clutch at himself, and the Dyrfain smiled cheerfully, folding her hands behind her back and rocking back and forth on her heels.

"As you can see," she said, and this time her tone was measured and forceful despite the expression on her face, "we have always had the upper hand, Doctor. It would be too easy for us. And you know as well as we do that you wouldn't mind helping us out so very badly. We're talking about the coward who fled Gallifrey as it fell to ash, after all, aren't we?"

He didn't answer, and she hummed absently.

"But your thoughts are _different_ now. I can taste them. Different even from the first time. That's all very interesting. I could claim you anytime I pleased. But first, we ought to talk. We still want to _enjoy_ ourselves, after all." He opened his mouth to offer an acidic retort, and she raised a finger to cut him off, smiling smugly and victoriously. "Come now, Doctor. You want to talk to us, don't you? Know what we're like? So little energy, so little zeal, all that life stamped out of you, but still, there remains a burning curiosity that you'll never be able to satisfy."

He raised his chin. "Suppose. You're a fascinating bunch, you lot. But see, then there's that wee issue about the crimes you've committed, the people you've killed, and all of a sudden I want to spend a lot less time in your company. But okay, just for a bit. I'll bite. What do you want?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know the answer. I've given it to you many times. We miss the golden days. But now they are gone, we want to go on living on Earth as we once did on your planet, and leave it at that. That's all we care about. Your essence will be priceless to us, Doctor. You are the only missing piece, the only missing cog, and then our vessel will be ready. You are _so_ valuable. And – " a giggle – "like I said, sweet, too. Really, you haven't the faintest idea."

"Yeah? Well, tough." It struck him he was negotiating, as he'd originally planned to do. Before everything had gone wrong. Before they'd killed Maria. Ha. Things always happened to him in the wrong order, didn't they?

"Hmm."

He titled his head, appraising her. "You're not the only member of the noble families here, are you?"

The Dyrfain seemed proud. "No. We are two. Myself, and an elder. Still his rank is lower than mine. We are not of the same clan, and still he thinks it his place – no, his _job_ , his _duty_ – to mentor and guide me and tell me what to do." She scoffed and her lower lip stuck out in a classic pout. It made the cracks nearest her mouth seem to deepen and spread slightly. Then her expression changed into something more passive again, and the cracks settled. "Even so, we are not such a class-driven race." She wrapped her arms around herself and studied him pointedly. "We are family, all of us, and we are all we have left." She looked down at her toes, and for a moment the Doctor thought he sensed actual sadness. For a moment he thought he felt actual pity for this being. Then he told himself it was just her child form playing with his emotions. The Dyrfain were few, and alone, but…

Some crimes were irredeemable.

"Where're the rest of you, then?"

"Still curious." She played with a lock of her hair. "Around. Scattered across this ship. In their true forms, mostly. Not even you would not understand them if you were to see them."

"Okay. New question. You seem to be enjoying this chatting game, so I don't mind playing a bit more. I got time. Why'd you try to – take me then? You're not doin' it now."

"I believe I already answered _that_ question, Doctor."

"Wanna explain it better? Bit thick, me."

"It was the best move then. And now it is not."

"Why not?"

"I told you – your taste. Your feelings. It suited us to act immediately. Now, not so much." She shrugged. "It all evened out very nicely in the end, though. Your dear human friend, rich and filling, so much more than a regular human – by the way, thank you for telling her the truth about yourself, Time Lord – came down, and offered us quite the supply. We'd been aiming for you and nothing more, and now, once we gain your essence, we shall have both. It's nearly twice as much as we'd planned, or dared to anticipate. Yes, _what_ a human. The best."

His stomach lurched. He said nothing. Idly he wondered where her body was.

"… Maria, wasn't it?"

No. Hearing her name, hearing it wielded by this – this _creature_ , he thought with finality, was wrong. It was all he needed. Something resonated within the Doctor, a sudden whip-crack of emotion making him spin on her, making him grab her by the collar of her gossamer nightdress.

"No. You don't get to say that. You don't get to use the names of the people you killed." His voice was low.

"Oh? And why shouldn't I? My people and I have always honoured those whose essences we consume."

The Doctor stared at her, tightening his grip on her collar. She hung there, almost lazily, feet dangling a few inches off the ground. Her expression was calm, he supposed. That was the term he'd have settled on, were he to use a word to describe it. Her stared into the childish face that was not childish, cracked as it was with those long spiderwebbing fissures, stared into the dark, bottomless eyes.

He stared at her, at the creature who had killed half a dozen innocent people, who had killed Maria, and in his mind, where there had once been a murky, bleary haze of confused thoughts and ambitions, the Doctor saw but one distinct, rage-induced goal.

It had been a long time since he'd wanted something dead.

Or had it been? The Dalek in Van Staten's underground base came to the forefront of his mind, briefly, quite out of nowhere. There was enough of him left to see at least a scrap of reason – or enough of Rose, he supposed. She'd been the one who instilled this… mercy into him.

And there was nothing he hated in the universe, not even the Dyrfain, more than the Daleks of Skaro.

He was about to let go of the Dyrfain, let her drop to the ground, however roughly, when he realised he was no longer clutching the fabric of her nightdress. His fist opened and closed and he stared at his hand in confusion, when her voice sounded from behind him. He spun around.

"Something's changed, I see," she singsonged.

"Yup. Wonder what that might be?"

"The Time Lord has a goal. About _time_ , I'd think."

The Doctor studied her a moment, as long as he dared. Her face wore that same innocently mocking expression, and there was no reading her eyes, but he sensed something else rolling off her too – fear. Just the tiniest trace of it. Fear.

He smiled to himself just a little. "Yup."

She laughed lightly, but now that he'd latched onto it, there it was, unmistakeable: the smallest seed of unease, and it was growing. "You mean to do away with us."

"Yup." He removed the sonic from his pocket, tossing it idly in the air and then catching it. It would do nothing in this situation, of course, but it rounded off the tone he was trying to evoke quite nicely. "That's exactly right. And guess who wants to do away with you?"

"… You, Doctor."

"Nope. But the man who put an end to the Time War does. Neither side won, did they? Nobody did. But somebody still sur _vived_."

A rustle of voices. A slight disturbance, one might say. The Dyrfain were unsettled.

The Doctor slapped one of the defaced engines. "Couldn't help but admire your handiwork, by the way. Very impressive. Very clever. Integrating your machinery with that of the ship, amalgamating two technologies to suit your purposes. Brilliant, really. Advanced thinking."

"We have always been an advanced civilisation."

"Really? The rulers of your planet don't seem to think so. Perhaps you ought to pay 'em another visit. Bet they miss you."

The expression on that little face darkened. "Just what _is_ it you wish upon us, then? Death? My kin were executed upon their return after the golden days were gone."

The Doctor shrugged. "Not my problem. You're the advanced psychics. You figure it out." He slapped the engine again. "You interrupted me, by the way. Rude, that. But as I was saying. Couldn't help but admire your handiwork. Lot of effort went into all this, didn't it? Be a right shame if it were to be undone and destroyed."

The Doctor learned something in that moment: even bottomless chasms of eyes could flash in alarm.

"So I'm offerin' you a choice." He held out both fists and opened one. "Either you leave, now, in whatever vessel you used to get here, and head to your own home planet, let the rulers deal with you. Or – " he opened the other – "you stick around, and I destroy all this lovely handiwork, and give you the opportunity to head home again. Because you're really not gonna want to be find out just what I can do if you encourage me."

"But you'll destroy all our machinery regardless. We are no fools."

He shrugged. "Sure. But you've worked bits of your own essences in this technology, haven't you? Fantastic, really, the link it forms. Delivers a constant stream of your victims' energy, directly to you. It's bound to you, to this ship, and you detach your essences from the system soon as you leave. I don't know much about it, but I reckon if I undo your technology while you lot stick around, it'll hurt a mite, won't it?"

Rustling cries of distress. Oh, but they _were_ afraid. It was nearly enough to make him break into a great big grin.

"We are tired of being ordered about by ruling races." The Dyrfain stuck out her chin with the stubbornness of every child. "And just what is it you plan on doing to us if we refuse?"

He gave an easy shrug. "You're the advanced psychic – the gifted one, too. Going inside, you call it if I'm not mistaken. Which I'm usually not, by the way. You tell me."

She studied him a moment. And then took the tiniest of steps back.

From the corner of his eye, a flash of movement. The Doctor turned his head sharply. What he saw was little more than a streak of shadow, but it was a shadow that moved with purpose. The Dyrfain frowned, but then other forms followed the first, all of them headed in the same direction.

The Doctor smirked. "Frightened the little ones, have I?"

"Our ship is connected to this one as well."

"So I can expect a bit o' turbulence as you take off then, then? All right. Thanks for the warning."

As if on cue, there came a great rumbling, the shrill shriek of engines. The room quaked, and he had to brace himself against the nearest engine to keep from toppling over. He supposed those first few Dyrfain were starting their ship up, and the one before him did not seem especially keen on stopping them of a sudden.

"And what do you get out of all, Time Lord? If we leave this ship be?"

"I get a whole lot of innocent people's lives spared. I get Earth, and Rose, safe. And I get to see you lot run, and know it was cos of yours truly. Does wonders for the self-esteem, that. Not bad on my end, wouldn't you agree?"

"Doctor."

"Looks like some of your precious kin've already made their decision. Care to join 'em?" The engine room trembled again. "I'm guessin' that'd be the turbulence you were so kind as to warn me of. Thanks for that, by the way. Sounds like your ship's firin' up. I expect people're a little worried up there. But by the time you lot are gone, the crew will regain control of the ship. All this'll be theirs again."

His ears began to ring, as though a bomb had just gone off.

"You're not fond of that idea, are you? But I'd wager it's better'n what you'll get if you decide to deal with me. And frankly I'm not over fond of getting my hands dirtier'n than they need to get."

He fell to his knees this time as the room trembled again, more violently than before, and the rumbling was deep enough and loud enough to make his head pound. But still, his eyes were alight with a determination he had not felt in years. He picked himself up and dusted himself off, then, sticking his hands in his pockets, he loomed over the Dyrfain and grinned at her.

"So go on. Run home, kid."

The voices around him rose, grew more frantic, like a cacophony of fluttering insect wings.

The Dyrfain looked wildly around her. Her kin were fleeing, streaks of shadow making way for their own small vessel, wherever it was they had parked it. "You wouldn't do it, Doctor, not really. I've – been inside you, I would _know_ – you would never really… "

He grinned. "Yeah? Try me."

She took another step back, her empty eyes widening. Fear was always _so_ visible in children. He continued staring at her as her fellow Dyrfain continued to race towards their vessel. Amidst all those crackling voices he could make out what sounded like cries. She pressed herself against an engine, seemingly intent on matching his stare even as her people panicked and fled for their ship; even as the high, shrill shriek of metal on metal joined the orchestra of rumbling engines, as if a structure was being torn apart. Then again, perhaps one was. She held his stare for nearly a minute. Then she turned on her heel and ran.

He crossed his arms and waited. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see them disappear.

The rumbling and trembling continued, and the Dyrfain stumbled and fell. She picked herself up, but then she stood, she stopped, and turned to look at him. Her hair fell in her face. "So there you have it, Time Lord. Your victory. Another little battle won."

"Yup." The word came out curtly, with a popped _p_.

The Dyrfain folded her hands in front of her. "And yet," she said, her voice low, "you came here for a reason, didn't you, Doctor? We just followed."

"I came here on a whim."

"Oh, of course you did." She grinned. "But there's a reason you chose this ship. The _SS Bad Wolf_. Not that you know it, yet, of course. But we do. Oh, it's _such_ fun to be the most knowledgeable one in the room, isn't it? You'd know about that, Doctor, ancient and clever as you are." She spread out her hands and backed away.

The engines screamed and again, the room was filled with a great rumbling sound that nearly drowned her words out. The Doctor nearly lost his balance as the floor trembled, and fumbled to lean against a tall support beam. He frowned despite himself. "No, I didn't. Nothing more'n an idle choice. How d'you mean, reason?"

"I thought you wanted us gone," was the light reply. "We're going." She was backing away, her form seemingly flickering in and out until he could scarcely identify it, like a poor radio signal. He couldn't make out what was behind the static. "Respecting the wishes of the greater Time Lord, at the end of the day – just as we have always done. Farewell, Time Lord."

The air swelled.

"What reason?!"

She only smiled. There was a blinding flash of light – he had to shield his eyes – and then a rumbling, followed by a sharp, slightly warped sound like all the air had suddenly been sucked from the room.

The Doctor cracked open one eye, then the other.

The engine room was still, and empty. The only sounds were the hum of the engines, low and rumbling and normal, and his own heavy breathing.

He discovered he was trembling, and he slid down to sit on the floor.

It was over. Finished.

He'd won. He'd won. He'd won and he was exhausted.

Leaning against the rusted, mutilated old engine, he buried his face in his hands. He stayed that way for a long time.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… it's the end! Gosh, it's been quite a ride, hasn't it? Many thanks to everyone who faved/followed or took the time to review this story. As ever, I would appreciate any and all feedback anyone might have – whether in regards to the characters, the development of the plot, the Dyrfain, or the ending you're about to read. Anything. Anything at all. Virtual banana to anyone who might have constructive criticism for me. Bananas are good.
> 
> Now we must enjoy Series 10! Because HOW FANTASTIC WAS THAT SERIES STARTER. HOW FANTASTIC WAS THAT TARDIS REACTION. Man, I already adore Bill; she's fantastic and fits right in. While I'm hesitant about Nardole being around 24/7 (he's… something of a third wheel right now), I love Matt Lucas and hopefully he'll get a bit more development and purpose as the series continues. And, oh, Peter Capaldi, I'm going to miss you…

 

> _Everybody knows that everybody dies. And nobody knows it like the Doctor. But I do think all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark if he ever, for one_ moment _, accepts it._

_..._

_Thud_.

The entire ship shuddered as it descended onto the elevated landing pad. Rose nearly tipped over into the Doctor and giggled a little.

Their fellow passengers glanced over at them. All had gathered in the passageways of their respective decks. The mood was painfully sombre.

It had been a week since the Dyrfain had fled the ship. A week since the Doctor, after a period of just under two hours, had finally summed up the energy to drag himself to his feet and stumble up from the engine room to the upper decks. A week since he'd all but collapsed on the floor just outside his cabin – he was doing an awful lot of collapsing of late.

Rose had burst out of her cabin room, and she'd dropped to her knees next to him and righted him, hands pressed firmly on his shoulders. This he remembered clearly. The rest was something of a haze. He'd muttered something about having won, and then the next thing he knew he'd been seated on edge of her bed. She'd called for a cup of tea, and a staff member had arrived with a watery, oversweet cup, which Rose had thrust at him before dropping expectantly into the desk chair. The Doctor remembered sitting there, cupping the lukewarm mug in his hands, and while he couldn't quite remember everything he'd told Rose, he was certain he'd told her most of it. He owed her as much.

The one other thing he remembered clearly of that night – had it been nighttime? He had no idea, had no idea at what time he'd woken up from his previous visit to the engine room in the first place – was Rose, pursing her lips and nodding once he'd finished his tale. "Do you have a headache?" she'd asked him.

He'd laughed dryly. "Oh, yeah."

"All right. You let me know when it stops hurting, won'tcha?"

"Didn't know you cared so much, Rose Tyler."

"'s not that. It's so I can give you a good whack over the head. But there ain't much point if it's already hurting, you ask me." She'd poked a finger in his direction, then suddenly lunged forwards across the small space and thrown her arms around him.

"Oi! Tea!" Some of the liquid had sloshed over the top of the mug and onto his lap. He'd leaned over to place it on the floor before hugging back.

"You're a bloody idiot, y'know that?"

"Yeah."

"God, is there _anything_ you're good at?"

"Probably not. Well, 'cept being an idiot maybe. Gotta say I'm fantastic at that. Though maybe not as much as your Mickey. But still, pretty damn fantastic."

"And havin' a bloody ego."

"That, too."

He'd made some feeble excuse about wanting some rest, then, and had slipped off to his own cabin, where he'd spent the next twelve hours shut up, sitting on the edge of the bed just twiddling his thumbs and staring at the wall.

That last week aboard the _SS Bad Wolf_ had not been the most eventful one in the Doctor's life, nor indeed in the lives of any of the passengers, he was certain. After all, the supervisors had yet to solve the murders. It wasn't as if they would have believed the Doctor if he'd popped by and told them a parasite race had made themselves a home in the engine room of the ship and had been slowly taking over, killing off passengers and members of staff to harvest their essences for energy storage, with an endgame of re-establishing their invisible empire on Earth. Everyone – _everyone_ – was still suspect. Passengers had been confined to their cabins, though the crew eventually allowed for friends and family members to wander between each other's cabins on their own decks – even allowed for visits to friends on other decks, if only with the company of an escort.

Maria's body had been found in the engine room two days after her death. Her corpse had started to decay.

The Doctor had had a lot of time to brood over the loss of the TARDIS over the past week. He felt almost empty without the soft touch of her presence brushing constantly against the back of his mind. Rose was hopeful about the entire affair. The Doctor was not. The Dyrfain destroyed an entire batch of new TARDIS models once, in his youth. He remembered hearing concerned mutters about it at the Academy. Both the physical ships themselves and the souls built into their cores, gone. The TARDIS was many things, but invincible was not one of them.

And now they were stuck, in 2095. Rose was stuck, nearly a hundred years after her time. A hundred years away from her mother. "You ought to call her," the Doctor had told her, but Rose had shaken her head adamantly.

"I will if it comes down to it."

They hadn't discussed what they planned on doing, now that the TARDIS was gone, since.

Now the _SS Bad Wolf_ was landing on a small station in the outer reaches of Earth's atmosphere. It was, of course, too big and heavy to actually land on Earth itself. Smaller vessels would carry all passengers and members of staff back down to the planet once everyone had gathered in the atrium. And then… well, with the intercom system back up and running, it had been announced that members of the police force would be there to "greet" them once they landed on Earth.

"All right, folks, feel free to get a move on!" Alfie the maintenance manager called. "Into the viewing gallery!"

The passengers of Deck J exchanged looks before beginning the slow shuffle in the direction of the viewing deck. Each deck had two doors on either side of its viewing gallery room, which had finally been opened. Rose glanced up at the Doctor with a frown. "How're we gonna get down to the main level?"

"Guess we'll see."

"You don't know?"

"I dunno. Maybe. They do stuff different in different eras, on different kinds of spacecraft. I'd wager some kind of device to get us down to the actual space station atrium, though. Or maybe some railings situated at each level. It's gotta be a bloody big atrium to hold this old thing." He rapped a wall with his knuckles as he passed it.

"So not a ramp or anything like that?"

He gave her a look, and she blushed. "Right. Figure they're a bit beyond plain old ramps by 2095, yeah?"

"Oh, not really. All depends."

Rose blinked up at him, then rolled her eyes as they passed through the threshold to the viewing gallery. Through the window, she could see the atrium of the space station, and she nearly stopped dead in her tracks to gawk at the sight. She'd never seen a room so huge in her life. Just from what she could tell from her limited view, the domed ceiling must have been at least two hundred feet high where it met the walls. The ceiling had sealed itself back up after the _Bad Wolf_ had landed. The entire atrium seemed to be lined with railings that wound all along its walls in a spiral pattern. Rose stopped for just a second to stand on tiptoe and tried to see over the heads of the passengers that filled the viewing gallery and obstructed her view. The woman behind her barrelled into her. "Sorry," she muttered, resuming her shuffling pace again.

The pace really _was_ slow – it took the Doctor and Rose nearly twenty minutes to reach one of the doorways. Rose gulped as they came to its threshold. The floor was a very long way down, and indeed she saw no ramp or anything of that nature. Then she caught sight of a man in uniform, clearly a worker of the space station, coming up to them on what Rose could only describe as a hover pad. Made of metal, it was small and circular, and was quite literally hovering up to the doorway. The uniformed man seemed to be holding a remote control of some sort, which he used to steer the hover pad so that it stopped only a few inches away from the cruise ship, exactly level with the floor. He looked bored. "Five to a hover pad, let's move on, go on," he droned, reaching out a hand to help Rose hop the gap. She took it and jumped, taking care not to look down. She landed lightly on the hover pad, then shifted closer to its edge to make room for the other passengers. She craned her neck up, finally able to take in the full grandeur of the space station's atrium.

It quickly became apparent that, once you got over its immense size, the space station had very little going for it in terms of impressiveness. The entire atrium seemed to be made of metal (save for the sleek floor below, which might have been made of linoleum), and gave off an unwelcoming affect: cold, harsh, and austere. Nothing could compare to the warmth of the TARDIS, but even then Rose had been on countless space stations and space shuttles more beautiful than this one. Still, she could see a couple dozen other hover pads all floating down to the ground floor or taking on passengers, high above and far below her.

"Careful there, miss. Long way down." Rose blinked, then realised she was standing with her toes over the edge of the hover pad. She quickly took a step back, and the man gave her a thin, awkward smile before helping the next four passengers onto the hover pad. All took his hand gratefully save the Doctor, who shrugged him off and hopped the short distance without batting an eye.

"All right." The hover pad floated away from the doorway, then began its slow, slightly wavering descent. "If you'd care to look down now, you'll see several queues forming. We're going to land right at the back of your deck's queue, Deck J's. From there, feel free to follow a guide, who'll lead you to another chamber just outside the atrium. You can get rested up, stretch your legs, drink a cuppa, before an escort'll lead you to the smaller vessels that'll carry you back down to Earth. Make sense?"

A vague, collective nod of assent from the passengers. Rose looked down – the entire atrium was bustling with activity. She couldn't have counted how many people filled the main space, but as they got closer to the ground, she could see the tall doorways situated all around the atrium, beyond which seemed to lie a network of corridors rather than individual rooms.

"Do we just… follow?" Rose asked the Doctor in an undertone. "Like… follow directions?" She was fairly certain they'd never done anything of the sort before.

"Don't see what else there is to do." He gave a shrug. He looked more miserable than ever.

Rose fell into silence. She said nothing as the hover pad landed and they all hopped down onto the ground to join the Deck J queue, which had already started to shuffle towards one of the corridors that branched off from the atrium.

She said nothing as she and the Doctor allowed themselves to be led, at that same miserable dragging pace, to a vast network of corridors. They were all of them just as featureless as the atrium. Once in a while, they passed large steel doors, all of them shut. Still, Rose looked about idly, sparing the odd glance at the Doctor, whose expression remained unreadable as ever, his face like an axe. _It wasn't as if there was anything else to do._

It struck her that she was really was stuck, seemingly truly stuck, in 2095, with no way back home, but even that realisation came to her in passing. Maybe she was just in denial, or maybe her heart still clung firmly to a last thread of hope. She liked to think it was the latter, and she would only let go once they arrived on Earth. Nothing seemed quite real yet. Nothing in these cool, featureless corridors, in this cold, dead space station. She resumed taking in her surroundings, when something out of place caught her eye, just peeking out from around the corner of a branching side corridor.

"Doctor!" Rose shook his arm. "Look."

The Doctor, for his part, stopped and turned his head to look in the direction she was pointing, quickly stepping out of the line of ambling passengers. The first thing he noticed among the subdued, chrome shades of the space station was the colour: a faded, muddied, but clear, clear, blue.

Something flitted gently against his mind, filling in every gap, caressing him. It struck him that it had been there for a while now – all day at least. He just hadn't realised it, too deep in his despair as he'd been. Brooding old idiot.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his face had broken into a grin. The Doctor offered his arm, like a gentleman, and with a beam, Rose took it. Passengers continued to file on, following their escort. Nobody noticed them. "Shall we?"

"Don't mind if I do."

They slipped away, invisible, in the direction of the ship, which for her part sat totally unnoticed, just like she always did.

Reaching the TARDIS, the Doctor's footsteps faltered and came to a halt before he pressed a palm to her wooden door. He'd forgotten how battered her exterior form was. How could he have forgotten in the space of just nine days? He caressed the wood, fingers tracing out every whorl, every splinter, every chip in her painted coat, in the way she liked. Rose meanwhile grinned. "Maybe save your romantic reunion for when we get inside?"

He lifted his head. "Right."

He produced the key from his breast pocket, inserting it into the keyhole. A turn, and the lock gave a most satisfying _click_. The Doctor could not help but grin to himself, just a bit, as he pushed the door open, and stepped past the threshold in one long stride. The TARDIS gave a soft hum of greeting, and surged to life, washing the console room in a warm, blue-green light. "Hey, old girl," he murmured.

Rose followed him, but at the top of the ramp stopped dead. "Hold on. Oh my god, I completely forgot – all my stuff!" Staff members were going to take all the passengers' trunks and personal items from their cabins and transport them down to Earth on separate vessels, where they could finally be reclaimed.

He gave her a look. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"

Rose looked sheepish. "Well, I mean, I _guess_ not. Was just clothes and toiletries, and my book… "

He paused. "Anythin' of particular sentimental value?"

Rose shook her head. No, there hadn't been. Nothing that wasn't easily replaceable. The closest thing she'd had to an object of value had been a thin grey hoodie she'd borrowed from her mate Shireen, ages back. And she suspected every single item that had been in her trunk would be waiting for her in her TARDIS bedroom when she got there. Including the toiletries.

"Good. We can go, then." The Doctor's tone was short as ever. His fingers closed around the lever would send them flying off into the vortex. "Where to next? Your turn, I think."

Rose circled the central console before dropping into the jump chair, tucking her legs under her. From here she could see a copy of _Heat_ splayed open under the console. She must have been leafing through it the morning they'd left. "Home," she said decidedly. A pause. "But maybe first we could just… lounge about for a bit? Just a few hours? I just – need to prepare if I'm gonna see my mum."

The Doctor just nodded once, then punched in the desired coordinates before pulling the lever. The TARDIS thrummed with the powerful whirring of her engines as they whizzed off into the vortex. Rose supposed there was something comforting about letting the ship just float there, suspended and surrounded by nothingness. She supposed it made it easier to pretend nothing mattered, that the sharp pain of Maria's loss would not be able to touch them there.

She supposed she knew that wasn't true.

"How long you plan on spendin' with her?" The Doctor's voice pulled her back into reality, and she startled. He'd pushed back from the console and had taken to leaning against the railing that encircled the ship.

"I dunno. Couple days, maybe. Why?"

"You wouldn't mind if I just stayed in here, would you? Not really up to popping in to say hello. Don't think your mother likes me over much."

Rose flashed him a teasing grin. "Aw, c'mon, Doctor. I think you and her really get on. It's sweet. What, not scared of my mum, are you?"

"She slapped me!"

"You had it coming!"

"It hurt!" He raised a hand to his cheek as if it still smarted.

"That's why you had it coming." Rose rolled her shoulders, and silence fell back between them. It failed to make itself comfortable. Rose took to staring at the copy of _Heat_ , barely registering the glossy information on the glossy pages of the tabloid. It struck her, idly, that she should be mourning Maria more than she was. Maria had been her friend, a brave and fearless ally, and here she was, acting like nothing had happened, like she hadn't just lost someone she cared about. Like it was an just another ordinary, lazy afternoon, as ordinary as an afternoon could be aboard a spaceship-time machine with an alien, anyway. Already she was putting it behind her.

And as soon as that thought came into her mind, she shoved it away.

Just like the Doctor would do.

Meanwhile the Doctor himself removed the sonic from his breast pocket, which he tossed idly from hand to hand. Rose wished he would find something else to occupy his hands with.

The low humming of the TARDIS tried to fill the empty space between them until the Doctor broke the silence. His voice was low and uncharacteristically monotone. "This is what it's like, you know."

"Hey?" Rose looked up at him, puzzled, and shifted over on the jump seat to make room for him. He stayed put.

"It's not all fun and games. Sometimes you're in danger, and sometimes people get hurt. It happens. All of time and space at your disposal, odds are you learn, eventually, that sometimes it can be ugly, and brutal. It can be sodding tiresome. You don't have to keep at it, if it's not what you had in mind when you said you wanted to come. You can go home anytime you like."

Her expression morphed from one of confusion to one of incredulity, and annoyance. "Blimey, how thick can you get? I thought I was supposed to be the stupid ape."

His expression hardened. "Rose, listen. I know we've been in fixes before, but this was… well, at least for you, it was different. And you can expect to see more of this if you stay, cos once in a while it comes up. You meet people and get close to 'em, people who're fantastic like Maria, people you come to love. And you lose 'em." When Rose's gaze did not falter, he sighed and ran a hand down his face before continuing pointedly, "you're not immune, Rose. It could happen to you."

She looked back at him defiantly. "I know."

"Rose – "

"I know. And it's worth it."

His lips quirked just a little. "Especially in the fixes you seem dead set on getting yourself in. Jeopardy-friendly, you are."

"That's the fun of it."

His grin widened. "You're sort of fantastic, you know that?" He pushed off from the railing and held out his arms. "Ah, c'mere."

Rose beamed and went to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and gripping the fabric of his jumper. He was warm. She felt him squeeze her back, felt his fingers pass briefly through her hair. She closed her eyes and buried her nose in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of him, all leather and time.

"Home, then?" His voice a low murmur in her ear.

Rose pulled away from him. "Yeah. All right."

"Still not gettin' me to go in."

She laughed. "Not even for a minute? Come on. Bet her hand misses your cheek. And then after she can make you a cuppa, beans on toast... settle down for a night of _EastEnders_ … "

"Nope." He went quiet for a moment. "Just wanna settle back in. I really thought I'd lost this old thing." A few lights on the console blinked, apparently in response.

Rose contemplated this. "Guess that's fair."

The Doctor rapped his knuckles against the time rotor. "Guess we're off, then." His hand closed around the lever.

"Hmm." Rose leaned on the console, tilting her head. "Wait, hold on." He glanced over at her. "I – do wanna go home, but… well, maybe we could make a pit stop first?"

He cocked a brow. "A pit stop."

"Well, we got all the time in the world, y'know," Rose couldn't help but point out.

His lips quirked again. "If that isn't true. All right. Humour me. Let's take a… 'pit stop.' What did you have in mind?"

"Chips?" she asked hopefully, and the Doctor chuckled.

"Chips. Still, _maybe_ we could go somewhere that's at least a _mite_ interesting after? There's this one planet, it's fantastic, you'd love it, they've got – " At her look, he shuffled his feet. "Right. First, chips."

"And they're on you this time, by the way," she added. "Don't try to trick me into using my money, I know you've got infinite amounts of every currency in the universe on this old ship."

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "None of it's quite real, you know. None of it properly circulated. D'you really think it's _fair_?"

"Shut up."

"Chips," was all he replied, his own grin not faltering for a second, and he pulled the lever. It was the same as every time – the same flaring blue-green lights, the same whirring sounds that swelled to fill the air, the same rush of adrenalin, the same thrill that was so sharp she could almost taste it, the same feeling that the universe was at her fingertips, that it was _hers_ – and just like every time, Rose smiled.

**END.**

**(Cue Doctor Who theme).**


End file.
